


Just a Simple Love Story

by Manuscriptor



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Gethin just needs to be loved, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, More tags to be added, Sharing a Shower, before the canon, tea makes everything better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 54,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10001900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuscriptor/pseuds/Manuscriptor
Summary: Before Gays the Word was Gays the Word. Before Gethin and Jonathan fell in love. Before LGSM. Before Gethin even knew he was gay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucky_as_lucky_can_be](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_as_lucky_can_be/gifts).



Gethin rolled out of bed, shivering as his feet hit the wood floor. It was January, but the cold, bitter sky refused to cough up any snow. The stuff that had already fallen was so far gone at this point; mostly just grey slush that froze and thawed overnight.

He sniffed and rubbed his face with a sigh. No matter how cold it got, he had to open the shop. He pulled on an old button down shirt hanging off his dresser and ran his fingers through his hair.

The coffee maker in the kitchen was on a timer, so when he stumbled into the small room, the pot was already full. He poured himself a cup while he rummaged through the cupboards for something to eat.

He really needed to go shopping.

He transferred his coffee to a travel mug and snapped the cap on. He shoved on his shoes and checked his watch. If he opened a couple minutes late, he could run to the bakery and grab a muffin or something. He grabbed his jacket and hurried out.

He watched the sky as he hurried down the street. The grey clouds certainly did look ominous. Maybe it would snow after all?

A gust of wind made him hunch his shoulders. It better well damn snow. Otherwise, this cold weather was for nothing.

“Hey, Bee,” he said as he turned into the bakery.

The man behind the counter looked up from frosting donuts, a grin splitting his face. “Gethin,” he said. “Let me guess, no food in that flat of yours again?”

Gethin chuckled, fishing a couple pounds out of his pocket. “I just need to see a couple volumes,” he said. “And I’ll be good. Muffin?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Bee said, setting down the tube of frosting and walking to another display case. “You know the missus tries to make as many as possible.”

Gethin glanced at the options. “Uh, brown sugar,” he said. He added another coin to his pile. “And there’s something for little Joni, huh?”

Bee shook his head as he bagged up Gethin’s choice. “Oh no, you take that back,” he said.  
“She doesn’t need any allowance. Besides, she’ll get cavities with all the candy she buys with your money.”

Gethin laughed and pushed the money forward. “Every little girl needs cavities,” he said and bit his lip. “Just have her, uh, tell her schoolmates about my story telling day.”

Bee gave him a look of pity. “Of course I will, Geth,” he said. “I’ll make sure her entire school knows.”

Gethin swallowed the lump in his throat and grabbed his bag. He managed a smile and a wave. “Thanks,” he said. “For that and breakfast.”

He hurried back out into the cold and tried hard not to think of the way Bee looked at him, like he was a charity case. In a way, he was. It seemed as if the entire community had adopted him like some stray puppy. Why, just the first week he had moved here, he had gotten more casserole than he could eat. He still had some in his freezer.

To be fair, he had been the picture of pitiful.

Some sopping wet seventeen year old, with a fresh school face, hardly seen anything of the world. Drops drown in this shoddy apartment and starts a bookstore out of nothing.

What's the Word was Gethin’s pride and joy. The small shop jam packed with every hardcover, softcover, ripped cover, torn cover, stained cover book he could get his hands on. He crawled through the streets, looking for discarded or discounted furniture. It took him three weeks to completely outfit the first floor.

As for the second floor, his own personal quarters were less extravagant. He had enough of course. He had chairs and a bed, a fridge and a coffee maker. Only sometimes did his cupboards turn up empty, and he always had coffee on hand.  
In any case, he wanted to make his mum proud.

She had always loved reading. He wanted to open the store in her honor. And he had don’t it. Now, he just needed to keep it open.

He flipped the closed sign over as he re-entered his shop. He flicked the lights on and set about making the place look alive.

He left his breakfast behind the counter, vowing to eat it as soon as he swept up. There wasn’t much dirt since he didn’t get as much foot traffic as he wanted. But he dutifully collected what was there and tossed it in the trash before settling down to finally eat.

He was two bites in when the phone rang. He snatched it up, eagerly hoping that perhaps it was a potential customer that wanted business hours or maybe to rent the side room.

“Hello, What's the Word, Gethin speaking,” he said.

“Oh, dear, no need to be so formal,” a familiar voice said.

Gethin found himself smiling at his shoes. “Hey, mum,” he said.

“I have the best news for you,” she said. “You’ll never believe it!”

“What is it?” he asked. He took a sip of coffee.

“You got a scholarship!” his mother squealed right in his ear.

Gethin winced and then processed what she had said. “Wait, what scholarship?” he asked. “I didn’t apply for anything.”

Papers rustled through the phone as his mum moved about. “Oh, of course you didn’t, dear. I did it for you.”

Gethin felt his heart drop to his stomach. “Mum, I have the shop now. I can’t go away to school.”

“Of course you can!” his mum said. “Besides, I already bought your plane ticket.”

Gethin felt his heart drop even more. “Plane ticket?”

“To France!” his mum exclaimed. “Isn’t that marvelous? I hear they have such good food and you’ll meet all sorts of nice people.”

“But, mum, I have the shop,” Gethin repeated. “I can’t just leave now. How will I pay bills?”

His mum tutted. “Oh, I’ll cover it for the time being. It’s only a year, Geth, give it a try. I bet you’ll like it.”

Gethin sighed but couldn’t muster up the heart to say no. “Alright,” he said. “For one year.”  
His mum was laughing now. “Oh, my son is going to France!” she said. “He’s going to France to study!”

Gethin smiled. “I’m hanging up, mum,” he said.

“I’ll send the details,” she said. “The school pamphlet and the ticket. You’ll have such a good time.”

“I will, mum,” Gethin said.

“And before you go,” his mum said. “I gave Lane your number. Told her to text you. You’ll get along so well. Alright, that’s all, bye, dear!”

The click of her hanging up seemed like the bang of a hammer, slamming the final nail in his coffin. Gethin just stood there for a moment, trying to process that last bit of information.

Lane? Lane Lewis? Who had baked him red velvet cupcakes and had been invited to every single one of his birthdays? Who had tutored him in English his freshman year and turned him down when he asked her out to prom? Oh, that Lane Lewis.

“Oh, mum, what did you do?” he muttered to himself.

School in France? He leaned on the counter and stared at the remains of his muffin. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Now, he was mainly nervous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The French came from Google translate and I do not speak it. If anyone out there is fluent and is reading this, I appologize. Sorry but enjoy!

Gethin finally stepped through the last metal detector and grabbed his carry-on from the conveyor belt beside him.

“Have a great day,” the flight attendant said, giving him a wide smile as she punched his passport. “And welcome to France.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Gethin said, shoving it in his pocket.

He had to pick up his other bags and then catch a cab to the Sorbonne University. It wasn’t that late but he could already feel the jet lag. All he wanted to do was find his room and go to bed. But he had a long way to go. It didn’t help that he had two suitcases, and carry-on bag, and a backpack.

He lugged them all out of the terminal, stopping on the curb to catch his breath. He hooked a thumb in the air as headlights approached.

“Taxi!” he called hopefully. Damn, what was French for taxi? No, it was the same.

The car pulled up next to him, and the window slid down.

“ _Où avez-vous besoin d’aller_?” the driver asked.

“ _Anglais, s’il vous plait_?” Gethin asked, leaning down to the window.

The driver rolled his eyes. “Where to you need to go?” he repeated, his accent light and airy.

“Sorbonne University,” Gethin said gratefully. He scrambled to get all his bags in the trunk and the flopped in the backseat. “That you, uh, _je vous remercie_.”

“Whatever,” the driver said as they pulled back out into traffic.

Gethin sat in silence the rest of the way. He studied his book of French words, trying them out under his breath. He wished he had had more time to prepare than two days. Then he could’ve at least learned the language a little better.

It didn’t take long, and before he knew it, the driver was kicking him and his bags out into the street.

Gethin paid him, made sure to tip extra, and said thanks one last time. The driver sped off after spitting a word of French at him under his breath.

Gethin quickly checked his book, flipping through the pages.

“Ah,” he said when he finally found the translation. “ _Putain étranger_ ,” he muttered. “Fucking foreigner.” He kicked his biggest suitcase. “ _Bâtard_!!”

He sighed. No point in going off about it now. He collected all his bags and walked to the main entrance. He fumbled with the doors for a good five minutes before getting everything inside. Huffing, he finally approached the reception desk.

“Gethin Roberts,” he said. “I have a reservation for – god, sorry, _réservation pour_ Gethin Roberts?”

The receptionist gave him a warm smile. “ _Un moment s’il vous plait_ ,” she said and started typing at her computer. “Ah, I see, is English better?”

Gethin nodded. “Yes, please, thank you,” he said. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

“Ah, here you are,” the receptionist said. “A new student? I’ll get you a key card and information.”

She walked into a back room, leaving Gethin by himself. He rocked on his heels and studied the lobby while he waited. It was really fancy here. Finally, the receptionist returned with a blue and gold folder and a key card.

“To get into you room,” she said. “And your class schedule and other information. The dorms are the big building on the left. You’ll find them very easy. Two-oh-three is yours.”

“Thank you so much,” Gethin said, re-gathering  up all his bags. “You really are kind.”

The receptionist giggled. “Just be safe,” she said. “And call the main desk if you need anything.”

Gethin found his room easily enough. When he unlocked the door, he immediately locked eyes with the other boy sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“ _Qui es-tu_?” the boy asked, eyeing him warily.

“Oh, sorry,” Gethin said. “ _Je suis_ Gethin Roberts, _agréable de vous rencontrer_.” _Nice to meet you_. “ _Je suis_ _votre colocataire.” I am your roommate._

“Ah,” the man said. “ _Je suis_ Lucas Dubois.”

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Gethin said. “Um, English? _Anglais_?”

Lucas furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Ah, right,” Gethin said. “No English.” His phone rang just then, and he dumped his bags unceremoniously as he scrambled to answer it.

“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice said. “Is this Gethin?”

“Yes,” Gethin said. Lucas was still giving him a strange look. “Um, who is this?”

“Lane,” the voice said. “Don’t you remember?”

Gethin swallowed. He remembered all right.

“Of course,” he said instead. “Hi, Lane.”

“So your mom gave me your number,” Lane said. “Told me we should stay in contact. I could send you something?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” Gethin said.

“No, it’s fine!” Lane said. “What’s your address?”

“Um, lemme ask my roommate,” Gethin said. He didn’t have the heart to tell her no. “ _Quelle est notre adresse_?”

Lucas rattled off a street name with some numbers and letters. Gethin quick jotted it down.

“Oh, French,” Lane said in his ear. “How sexy.”

Gethin managed a shaky smile even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, here.” He repeated to address back to her, and he could hear the scratch of pen on paper as she wrote it down.

“I’ll send you something as soon as I can,” she promised. “And keep me up to date on your school work, okay?”

“Sure,” Gethin said. “Um, yeah, that would be great.”

“Alright, I’ll let you sleep,” Lane said. She kissed the receiver, causing a blip of static. “Talk to you later.”

Gethin sighed and hung up without waiting for a dial tone on her end.

“ _Petite amie_?” Lucas asked. _Girlfriend?_

Gethin quickly shook his head. “ _Non_ ,” he said. “ _Juste un ami.” Just a friend._

Lucas nodded and went back to watching TV.

Gethin was left to haul all his things into the bedroom. He made his bed first of all and flopped down immediately, staring at the ceiling.

Already he felt homesick. Millions of miles from home. London had been fine. At least he could’ve driven home if it got bad. Paris was completely out of the question.

He felt his throat knot up, and he swallowed to hold back the tears. He clutched his phone – his only connection back home – and squeezed his eyes shut.

Nope, he could do this. He could totally do this.

He had a couple days before classes started. He could survive until then, and the days would zip by after that. He would be back to What's the Word before he knew it.


	3. Chapter 3

Gethin spent the next day figuring out where everything was at the college. He visited all his classrooms, scouted out bathrooms, and made a note of anywhere that looked like it could hide him if he needed to be alone.

He had pretty much everything down. He had a mental map of the area, as well as an actual map he had doodled on. What he missed most though, were his books.

There was a library on campus, of course. But the old tomes were dusty and ancient and full of great knowledge. They didn’t feel the same as his collection back home: the well-worn, paged through books that felt like family, not like professors.

Now, he was headed to the surrounding area. He wanted to get a feel of the restaurants and cafés in the area, places where he could grab a quick bite to eat if he was late or didn’t have food in the dorm.

He made a note of all the café signs, the ones that seemed interesting. Like Turn the Pages, a corner café with newspapered walls and old fashion booths for coffee and reading. He decided he’d better try it first before officially putting it on the list. He fingered the couple bills in his pocket as he pushed open the door and entered the sweet smelling restaurant. Already it was heavenly.

Even the line was short, making it that much better.

Gethin ordered a coffee with some fancy hazelnut syrup and grabbed a couple packets of sugar from the condiments table. He chose a small corner table and sat, stirring the sugar into his coffee and taking careful sips. He checked the messages on his phone, saw he had a text from Lane, but didn’t bother answering it. He didn’t want to think about her right now. Instead, he watched the bustling world outside, absentmindedly studying the people that passed in front of the shop.

He tried to savor the time of relaxation, knowing that in a few short days, he would be swamped with schoolwork and classes and schedules. He was almost regretful when he reached the bottom of his cup and it was time to go. But he couldn’t sit here forever. He gathered his bag and things and tossed his used cup in the trash before slipping out the door.

Just as he turned the corner, a flash of brown and purple caught his eye. He tried to backpedal and so did the other person. They managed to avoid collision but a splash of coffee from the person’s cup sloshed over the lip and onto Gethin’s shirt. It didn’t even burn, but the person was thrown into hysterics.

“I am so sorry,” they said. Before Gethin could blink, he had a wad of napkins pressed up against his chest, gently dabbing at the brown spot. The taller blonde man was wincing as he tried to fix his mistake. “God, I’m a walking disaster,” he said. “And now I’ve ruined your shirt.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Gethin said, standing awkwardly with his hands at his sides as the other man continued to wipe his shirt. “I’m sure it’s not ruined.”

“Trust me,” the man said. “I know stains. Coffee is a bitch.”

Gethin bit his lip but didn’t want to protest, scared the man would make him take it off or worse, give him his own.

“I’ve got it!” the man said, unwinding his garishly purple scarf and draping it around Gethin’s neck. He fixed the tassels so that they hung over the stain. “There, you can’t tell the difference.”

“Oh, no, I can’t take your scarf,” Gethin said, trying to take it off.

The man only laughed and stopped his hands. “I don’t mind,” he said. “Besides, I have dozens at home. Losing one is no big deal, and-“ He tapped Gethin’s nose. “And purple brings out your eyes.”

Gethin felt his cheeks heat up but the man was already shouldering his bag and walking away. Gethin fingered the soft fabric of the scarf and stood there a moment. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere important. Nowhere that he had to look presentable. But now, now that the nice man had given up his own scarf, he felt compelled to actually _do_ something today. He felt like the man had given him a coat of armor and now he had to use it.

He checked his phone.

The Luxemburg Gardens were only a couple blocks away. It was the best thing he could think of on the spot. With the map pulled up on his screen, he started off down the street, admiring the fountains that lined the sidewalks. While the pools were slightly grimy, they were pretty to look at. Gethin snapped a photo on his phone quickly before hurrying on.

The gardens earned every good word spoken about them. The wide stretches of mowed grass would be perfect for picnics in the coming months and the vases of flowers, although well kept by the groundskeeper, wouldn’t be in full bloom at this time of the year. Despite all that, there were still people walking their dogs along the cobblestone paths and food venders set up at the corners. Gethin found one that served American food and bought a hamburger, absentmindedly munching it as he walked along. He stopped to admire a group of street musicians. One played the drum rather enthusiastically and the other strummed a ukulele, and they both covered vocals. They sang in French which meant Gethin couldn’t understand the words, but they seemed happy when he tossed a couple bills into the bucket at their feet.

He wandered the gardens a little bit more and found benches next to a bubbling fountain. He messaged Lane, because he hadn’t at the coffee shop, and then left a voicemail for his mum when she didn’t pick up.

He bird-watched for a couple hours. At least, watched the birds that hadn’t migrated away for the winter. There weren’t many. He ended up buying oriental noodles and slurping them while he walked back to the college.

Whenever a sharp bite of wind tickled the back of his neck, he would pull the purple scarf tighter and send a silent thank you to the man out there who was most likely freezing right now. Gethin’s shirt _honestly_ hadn’t been that bad, but having a scarf in this just-cold-enough weather was actually nice.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Gethin hung around the coffee shop. He ordered drink after drink until he had to make frequent trips to the bathroom. He had the bright purple scarf tucked in his bag. He felt awkward wearing it again today, especially since his intent was to return it.

He was hoping he would run into the man again. Gethin wasn’t sure how often he visited the coffee shop, but it was his only certain lead that he had in finding him. It was his best shot.

He was starting on his third caramel latte – the barista had taken pity on him and even done a small foam flower – and was considering going back to the college for lunch when the glass doors opened, chiming a bell, and Gethin heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Timeo! Can I hang a flier in here?”

The English was like ice to his ears sore from hearing French time after time. Gethin snapped his head up as he tried to spot the mad who has spoken. And there was that familiar head of golden curls. The generous scarf donator was back, and he had with him his posse of friends.

They all looked similar, awkwardly enough. They carried themselves high, proudly. They didn’t mind the stares that their raucous entrance brought. In fact, they used the opportunity to flash fliers in people’s faces. Gethin had one slapped down in front of him and he picked it up curiously.

“Three Nights Only!” the top line of gaudy text read. “The One! The Magnificent! Troup of Paris!” The words were accompanied by cartoon fireworks and a large red curtain. It was clearly an advertisement for some sort of show.

An older man stuck his head out of the back room. “You know how I feel about small businesses,” he snapped. When he saw the blonde haired man, his eyes lit up. “Ah! Jonathan! Why didn’t you say it was you?”

“I shouted,” Jonathan said, sliding onto one of the front counter seats. “But you are a deaf old man, Timeo!”

Timeo laughed. “And you know how I feel about your crappy acting,” he said, snatching the flier from Jonathan’s hands. He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Gah! What is this? Beauty and the Beast?”

“Ah, no,” Jonathan said. “We chose a much less famous tale to produce. Fairer-than-a-Fairy attributed to Jean chevalier de Mailly.” He spoke the name with a certain finesse and respect that Gethin couldn’t help but smile.

“I remember that one,” Timeo said, smiling fondly at the sheet of paper. “I used to be in love with the girl princess.” He laughed. “Until I grew up and realized there were many woman just as beautiful who were actually _real_!”

Jonathan laughed with him. “See, I fell in love with the prince,” he said. “And would talk with my toilet for hours on end. Drove my parents crazy.”

Timeo laughed and threw the flier back at him. “Sounds fun,” he said. “Sure, hang it up next to everything else.”

“And I’ll have an iced Americano,” Jonathan said and winked. “See? I’m good for business.”

“Yes, but the chaos you bring?” Timeo said, turning to a coffee machine and starting to make Jonathan’s drink. “You actors don’t know when to stop.”

Jonathan shrugged and pinned his flier on the bulletin. “We stop,” he declared, turning to the counter, raising his hands as if conducting a choir. “When the show ends. Such is the way of actors.”

Gethin laughed and quickly covered it with a sip of his latte. They he leaned down, tugging the scarf out of his bag. After Jonathan grabbed his drink, Gethin would catch him on the way out the door. He hopped out of his seat when Jonathan headed back to the counter and met him half way.

“Your scarf,” he said awkwardly. He hadn’t really thought through his plan this far. He had his fingers crossed that hopefully Jonathan would remember.

“Oh,” Jonathan said, his eyes settling on the scarf. He maneuvered his drink so that it was in the same hand as his fliers. “You didn’t have to return it.”

“It’s yours,” Gethin said. He wished Jonathan would stop arguing and take it. “That would be stealing.”

Jonathan laughed. He seemed to be full of laughs. “You Brits and your technicalities,” he said.

“Welsh, actually,” Gethin quipped.

Jonathan blinked, staring at him dumbly.

“I’m Welsh,” Gethin clarified. “Not British.”

“And I’m blimey straight,” Jonathan said, baring that wide smile of his. “Sorry, the accent was Londoner so I just assumed.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Jonathan.”

“Gethin,” Gethin responded, placing the scarf in Jonathan’s outstretched hand. “And this is your scarf.”

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “Alright then,” he said, wrapping it around his neck even though it didn’t go with his outfit _at all_. “My scarf.” He then offered Gethin a flier. “Hey, you should come to our show.”

“I’ll think about it,” Gethin said, taking the flier even though he had one waiting back at his table.

Jonathan left him with a smile. “It’ll be good,” he said. “I promise.”

“Come on, Jona!” one of the other actors called. “We have to go hit the other stores!”

Gethin watched, a little miffed, as Jonathan and his friends waltzed out of the coffee shop, turning left and heading down the street. He glanced down at the flier in his hand.

“The One! The Magnificent! Troup of Paris!” the words shouted. “For three weekends only! Come and See Fairer-than-a-Fairy! Starring Jonathan Blake as the Cursed Prince! And Sylvie Loupe as the beautiful princess!”

Gethin grinned and folded it up, sliding it into his back pocket as he walked back to his table. He then folded the other one up and put that in his pocket too. He gathered his book bag and things and walked out of the shop, heading back toward the college. The day was barely half over, but he had given back the scarf and that’s what he had wanted to do.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the French. It's google translate or nothing :/

A couple weeks into school and Gethin was starting to fall into a routine. He had classes throughout most of the day, which kept him away from his room and away from French-speaking Lucas. And he only stopped by briefly to exchange his books before heading off to the coffee shop.

The coffee shop had quickly become his main spot to work. He bought a string of drinks while he studied so that he wouldn’t get kicked out. He got punch cards that got him every tenth drink free and started recognizing different baristas as well. They called each other by name and exchanged smiles and pleasantries. They liked Gethin’s broken French and liked practicing English with him.

Lane tried calling him every day. Gethin usually let it cut to voice mail. He texted her enough and didn’t understand why she wanted to call.

He also frequented the gardens. He tried to make time for a quick walk each day, grabbing something different each day from the vendors. It was a relaxing ritual. Plus, he could slowly watch the gardens come alive. Already, the grounds keepers were getting the vases ready and clipping bushes for the main tourist season.

He sipped a mug of hot chocolate he had taken from the shop as he strolled through the paths. It was slowly getting warmer, but he still kept his coat wrapped tight around his shoulders. It was like armor to him and he wasn’t too keen on letting it go too soon. Having a hot drink in his hand helped too.

He was making his way along the exit path, planning on heading back to the college, when a rainbow of colors caught his eye. He snapped his gaze around, staring at the vendor cart he hadn’t seen before. He took a slow sip of his coco, wondering if he was putting too much thought into it or if the bright scarves fluttering from the stand were more than a coincidence.

Scarves.

They had become to haunt him almost. He noticed them everywhere. Around necks, drying on clotheslines, hanging in stores. All different patterns, all different colors. It was infuriating. Every time he saw one, he was reminded of his own cold, bare neck.

Gethin fingered the change left over from his time at the coffee shop. He wondered if it was enough. And before he could stop himself, he was walking over, calling out to the bored looking salesperson.

“ _Bonjour, sont les foulards à vendre_?” _Are your scarves for sale?_

The man gave him an are-you-stupid look. “ _Bien sûr_ ,” he said. _Of course!_

Gethin pulled out his money and showed it to the man. He didn’t see a price tag anywhere and hoped he had enough. The man seemed okay with it anyhow. He snatched up the money and motioned to the display.

“ _Lequel series-vous_?” he asked. _Which one would you like?_

Now Gethin froze. The rainbow of colors was entirely too bright compared to his current wardrobe. Nothing on the racks even remotely would match anything he owned at the moment. He felt stupid now, but the man already had his money and was waiting for him to choose one.

“Um, blue,” he said, pointing to the sky blue scarf that hung off to the side. He didn’t get the chance to repeat himself in French. The vendor was already handing him the scarf, babbling in French about how good Gethin would look and how the color would bring out his eyes. Gethin awkwardly thanked him and wrapped it around his neck, finally escaping the vendor’s touched.

The fabric was soft, surprisingly for a street vendor scarf, and sewn with good quality. It didn’t have tassels like Jonathan’s had. Instead, pom-poms were pinned to each corner. They bounced with each stop, swinging from side to side with each step. They had more confidence than him it seemed. Gethin felt stupid. A scarf had been a bad idea. He was about to slip it off his neck when a particularly harsh wind slammed into his back, blasting up his hair and making him hunch his shoulders. The pom-poms spun into action, immediately taking flight and trying to run away. Gethin squeezed his eyes shut and hugged himself until the gust died down. And at the end of it all, he was still warm.

The scarf could stay. For now.

He narrowed his eyes at the pom-poms. But those traitorous accessories might have to meet the scissors.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is longer, I promise!! enjoy this short one for now, thanks ^-^

Gethin chewed the end of his pencil instead of doing his homework. He was bored anyway. The caffeine of two black coffees buzzed in his veins and left his leg bouncing. He wanted to move, to do something. Not sit here and stare at the maths sheet that still had too many blank spaces. He nibbled his pencil further, staring at the people walking past the café’s window.

“Hey, you, in the pretty scarf!”

It was the English words that made him turn initially. It was the remark about his scarf that made his cheeks go pink. He blinked in surprise when he realized it was Jonathan, hauling a tattered cardboard box out from behind the counter. His shoulders were hunched against its weight, his shirt stretched tight over his straining muscles.

“Do you mind catching a corner?” he asked, nodding to the box.

It looked on the verge of falling so Gethin jumped from his seat and quickly grabbed one side of the box. It was heavy. Gethin was caught off guard. It must have something like metal in it. He was surprised Jonathan had been able to carry it by himself.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said.

Then Gethin became aware that they were just standing there, staring at each other across the box, not moving. Jonathan’s brown eyes were so intense that Gethin found himself glancing away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Um, where do you need to go?” he finally asked.

Jonathan blinked as if he were coming out of a daydream. “Oh! There’s a moped out front. I just need to get this on the back and then I’ll be good.”

“Then let’s go,” Gethin said, wanting to get it over with as fast as possible before his cheek betrayed him.

“Can you walk backwards?”

The question made him pause, and he looked back up to meet Jonathan’s gaze.

“I mean,” Jonathan quickly corrected. “I don’t want to fall on top of you. Or crush you under this box. That would be bad. And if you’re more comfortable with me walking backward then I’d be glad to –“

“No, I got it,” Gethin said, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The café wasn’t even that busy. There were hardly any people he would have to avoid.

“Alright then,” Jonathan said.

They still didn’t move. Gethin clenched his jaw and took a step backwards, determined to show Jonathan that he wasn’t weak or helpless. To his surprise, Jonathan moved with him, perfectly, so that the weight each of them had to carry never shifted. So that Gethin didn’t have to stumble under any unexpected weight and Jonathan didn’t have to side step when the box shifted too much.

Jonathan had been waiting for Gethin.

Now that they were moving, it was much easier. Gethin felt stupid for not realizing he was the one who had to start them off. How long would Jonathan have stood there until saying something? For some reason, he seemed like too nice a person to say anything at all.

“What is this even for?” Gethin said, trying to distract his thoughts.

“Props,” Jonathan said. “Timeo, the owner here, he’s letting us – the troup, I mean – borrow some of his kitchen ware for the set. You know, for our—“

“Fairer-than-a-Fairy,” Gethin said. “Yeah, I know. I’ve never heard of it. What’s it about?”

They loaded the box onto the back of the moped as Jonathan laughed.

“No spoilers,” he said. “If you want to hear the tale of a princess born more beautiful than a fairy, you have to come to one of our shows.”

Gethin took a quick peep into the box and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, and what fairy tale has a frying pan and cooking pots?”

Jonathan grinned, as if this particular detail was the best thing the entire play had to offer. “That, dear Londoner, is a secret until the show premiers.”

“I told you, I’m Welsh,” Gethin said, more to himself though. He knew when to pick and choose his battles.

A ringtone chimed just then, and Gethin instinctively reach for his pocket. It was Jonathan though, that pulled out his buzzing phone and answered it. Gethin felt stupid for thinking it was his.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he said. “Ah, Sylvie. What’s up?”

Gethin listened awkwardly as the person on the other end of the phone launched into a rant in garbled French. He couldn’t understand any of it, so he waited awkwardly, staring at the ground.

“Well, that’s not good,” Jonathan said. Gethin looked up just in time for them to lock eyes. Jonathan seemed to think for a moment and then smiled. “I’ve got an idea,” he told Sylvie. “Hey, Scarfs, how good are your painting skills?”

“What?” Gethin said.

“I mean,” Jonathan said. “How good are you at painting background for plays?”

“I’ve never tried before,” Gethin said with a noncommittal shrug.

Jonathan grinned. “Sylvie, I got someone. _Of course_ , they’ll be good. Professional. Top notch. You’ll be glad Thomas quit.”

“Um, wait, are you talking about me?” Gethin asked. He was far from professional and had no confidence that he would in any way be _close_ to good.

Jonathan only shushed him with a finger. “It’s show business, sweetheart,” he said, still talking to Sylvie on the other line. “It’s how we roll. It’s how we act. It’s what gives us inspiration.” He paused, and Gethin picked up on the rapid fire French blaring through the phone. “Don’t worry,” Jonathan said. “Sylvie, trust me. His replacement will be perfect. Alright? Alright? Alright. Catch you later, my beautiful princess.” He ended the call.

“I’ve never painted before in my life,” Gethin blurted. “You just lied to . . . . . Sylvie. She’s going to kill me when she finds out I’m not a professional—“

“Lemme see your hands,” Jonathan said and grabbed his wrist before he could protest. He matched their fingers and smiled. “You have painter’s hands,” he said. “You’ll be good. It’s gut instinct. Trust me, I’m an actor.”

And Gethin had no choice but to climb onto the back of the moped and cling tight to Jonathan as he peeled out into the street traffic. He was dimly aware that he had left his books and homework back at the café, but the thought of being gutted by Sylvie when she learned he couldn’t paint a straight line kept his mind occupied for the most part.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Mix the blue and the green,” Sylvie ordered Gethin.

Gethin gritted his teeth but resumed his brush strokes, dutifully trying to merge the shadows of the fountain into a nice blue-green like Sylvie’s were. He only seemed to be able to turn it into a muddled brown.

“It looks great,” Jonathan called down to him from where he hung from the scaffolding.

It wasn’t dangerous or anything, but Gethin felt his breath hitch every time he looked up. Jonathan had a harness strapped around his chest and thighs and was in charge of making sure all the lighting was perfect. He had jokingly assured Gethin that he would be safe, but now, when he was dozens of feet off the ground, Gethin couldn’t help but worry.

“In fact,” Jonathan went on. “I’d say it looks better than Sylvie’s.”

“I throw this at you,” Sylvie threatened, waving her brush at him. “You may be prince, but you are fuck ugly.”

Jonathan had introduced Gethin in English, which everyone took as a sign to speak English even though they weren’t the best at it. He would probably be able to keep up if they spoke French, but Jonathan kept yelling in English, prompting everyone to yell in English.

“And you’re my beautiful princess,” Jonathan called back.

Gethin had yet to get used to the way the actors talked with each other. They all seemed to be a mix of themselves and the character they were playing. Jonathan and the cursed prince. Sylvie and the princess more beautiful than fairies. The other people of the cast that Gethin hadn’t been introduced to yet. They all knew each other and he knew no one.

No one. But Jonathan.

So, he awkwardly painted in silence until Jonathan called him out by name or told him what a good job he was doing. Everyone else didn’t seem to mind him being there, but they didn’t pay him much attention either. They had kind of reached a compromise: as long as Gethin didn’t talk, they didn’t complain about his shoddy painting.

It wasn’t painfully quiet on set. Quite the opposite. All the actors joked and teased one another – in French usually or English if Gethin was in the near vicinity. They were obviously familiar with each other, and Gethin smiled along with the teasing even though most of it was inside jokes. And he slowly began to learn who everyone was.

There was Sylvie who played the princess prettier than fairies. She hadn’t gutted him when she learned he wasn’t a professional. In fact, she was only mildly irritated with him. She spent most of her time ribbing Jonathan.

There was Lou, a college student shorter than Gethin, who was playing the princess’s pet cat. He liked sorbet apparently, specifically strawberry, and was also in charge of makeup.

And then Simóne, who restored books in her spare time and had jaggedly chopped hair. She played the princess’s dog and was in charge of costumes. Gethin really wanted to talk with her about books but so far, she hadn’t spoken a word of English and he was too embarrassed about his French.

And then there was Mayra, an older woman who was playing the evil fairy. Despite being the villain, she spoke wonderful English and was very polite to Gethin. She was in charge of props but was also helping him and Sylvie paint the backgrounds.

“I think it needs more blue,” Jonathan called down to Gethin. “The water, I mean. It looks too green from up here.”

Gethin glanced up at him and then back at his work. He took a step back to get a good perspective. He frowned when he realized that, indeed, his areas were significantly greener than Sylvie’s area. It looked more like grass that actual water. He groaned in frustration and reached for a can of blue paint.

“I can,” Sylvie said, stopping his hand.

“Oh,” Gethin said, pulling away. Of course! Why would they let him ruin the set further? “Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping back. “I’ll just, um . . . .”

“The rainbow,” Sylvie said.

“What?” Gethin said.

Sylvie offered him a different, clean brush and pointed to the plywood rainbow that still needed to be painted. “The rainbow,” she said. “Just colors. No mixing. You can do it.”

He wouldn’t _ruin_ it, she meant. But Gethin nodded, swapping out his brush. He walked over to the new prop and waded into the paint buckets stacked around its base. The rainbow itself was taller than him and twice as long. He had read up a little on Fairer-than-a-Fairy out of pure curiosity and knew that the rainbow was a very important part. The cursed prince was only able to talk through a rainbow. This prop would be out on stage nearly the entire time. Sylvie hadn’t given him an offhand job at least.

He uncapped the bucket of vibrant red paint and dipped his brush in, swirling it before scooping up a glob and watching it dribble back down. Actually, it would be fun to work with such bright colors instead of the dull blue and green that the fountain was painted in. He scooped up another glob, this time carrying it quickly to the plywood and painting a long streak. He worked it over until it was spread evenly and then grabbed another scoop.

Yes, this was definitely more fun than the fountain.

But it was harder though. The rainbow demanded a lot of paint and simply dipping the brush wouldn’t work like it had with the fountain. But the large scoops he worked it dripped and splattered, quickly covering him in red. And he wasn’t even half way done.

He moved onto orange and painted. Then yellow. And green. Blue that matched his scarf and the sky. Purple as garish as Jonathan’s scarf. And an indigo which was a perfect mix of the two.

He painted the cloud at the end in shiny silver and stepped back to admire his work. Not bad if he did say so himself.

“See, I told you you were a painter,” Jonathan said.

Gethin glanced over his shoulder. Jonathan was down from the rafter it seemed and was standing a little ways behind him, admiring the rainbow same as him. Gethin laughed in embarrassment, suddenly aware of all the paint that speckled his arms and the front of his shirt.

“Always trust an actor’s instinct,” Jonathan said with a smile. “We know how to read people.”

Gethin glanced down at his hands. His fingers were permanently crooked, still wanting to curl around a brush handle. If he painted another stroke, cramps would threaten to seize the muscle.

“And I’m a painter?” he said.

Jonathan point to the rainbow. “You tell me. It looks pretty damn good though.”

Gethin felt his chest swell with pride at the words and he looked up at the rainbow, studying it for himself. It did look pretty good, didn’t it? He set his brush down and stretched his arms over his head, his fingers protesting as they returned to their intended position.

“Is there anything else that needs to be done?” he asked. A break from his homework was actually exactly what he needed, and he wasn’t quite ready to go back to the café to collect his bag and books just yet.

“No, we’re done for the day,” Jonathan said. “Everyone’s done a ton of work and they’re hungry. We’re actually going to go get something to eat together.”

“Oh,” Gethin said. He flipped his phone out to check the time, surprised by how late it was. Almost seven. Time had flown by while he had been busy painting. “I just need a ride back to the café,” he said. “Or a taxi. I can walk back to the college.”

Jonathan shuffled his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You don’t want to come with us?” he said.

Gethin blinked. “I don’t have any money,” he said. His wallet was back in the side pocket of his book bag. Even then, he was running a little short on spending money.

“I can pay for you,” Jonathan said with a wide smile. “Come on. You’ve earned a hot meal. Plus, we always go to Delífrance. It’s fast food but still good. You’ve like it.”

Always trust an actor, Jonathan had said. If he thought Gethin would like it, well, who was he to say otherwise. Besides, he would be stupid to pass up a free meal (even if he did feel a tad guilty about Jonathan paying for it). So he nodded and followed Jonathan out of the building, where the others were waiting.

He hopped onto the back of the moped and slid his arms around Jonathan’s stomach, pressing his face into his shoulder to protect his eyes from the wind. It wasn’t bad. Gethin didn’t want to call it good. He clung to Jonathan as they took turns and squeezed tighter when they crossed a bridge and the rattle of tires on metal sheets was loud and grating.

When they arrived at Delífrance, Gethin was a little shaky on his feet but managed a smile as Jonathan helped him off the moped. Sylvie, Lou, and Simóne were already waiting outside and said that Mayra would be along shortly, since she had to pick her son up from daycare before she got charged for overtime. Everyone else, it seemed, had gone home.

They didn’t seem to mind that Gethin was there, although they accidentally slipped back into French every once in a while. Gethin didn’t mind. He was just happy to have people to spend time with after spending days on his own at the college cafeteria and the café.

“Get the pasta,” Lou suggested as they sat, waiting for their orders to be taken. He reached across the table to tap the item on Gethin’s menu. “It is very good.”

“Get _anything_ ,” Jonathan emphasized. “It’s fine.”

Gethin took a drink of his water and tried to focus on the menu in front of him. It was hard. They had all squished themselves into a booth and Gethin was shoved close to Jonathan who had spread himself out like he owned both seats on either side of him along with the one he was sitting on which meant his arm was draped over Gethin’s shoulders. And his _breathing_. Gethin never thought such a common action could be so euphoric. Like something out of a dream. Every swell of his chest had Gethin inhaling too, until they were breathing in time.

He thought, briefly, to his book of French words and remembered the section he had read at two in the morning, just a couple days ago. He had been dead tired at the time and hadn’t really thought any of the non-translatable words would stick. Apparently, they did.

_D_ _écomplex_ _é_. Open, relaxed, expansive, and uninhibited all at the same time. The word came to mind as he sat there, breathing in time with Jonathan. Nothing in English fully captured what it was supposed to mean. Laid-back, no social pressure. Gethin stopped trying to define it and just tried to feel it.

The waiter returned to take their drink orders, and Jonathan ordered for the whole group. Something called _citron press_ _é_ , and nobody protested against it so it must be good. Jonathan ordered by the pitcher for the whole group which left Gethin wondering what it could be. Soda? Citron was like citrus so orange juice?

The waiter brought out a tray with four pitchers and two covered dishes. Two of the pitchers were filled with iced water and the other two were filled with a yellow liquid. All the other actors perked up and immediately passed around new cups, helping the waiter transfer all the dishes onto the table. Gethin was jolted as Jonathan sat up and withdrew his arm to help pass the cups. Gethin’s cheeks went hot when he realized that he had been enjoying the contact.

“Lemonade,” Jonathan explained, filling his cup halfway with the yellow liquid – lemon juice? “You mix it yourself to get the right tartness and sweetness that you like. So everyone is happy.”

“Oh,” Gethin said. He accepted his cup and then copied Jonathan’s proportions: half water, half lemon juice with three generous scoops of sugar from the covered dishes. He then took an experimental sip and screwed up his eyes and nose, coughing at the sour taste.

Jonathan laughed. “Too sour?” he teased.

Gethin shook his head, reaching for his cup of plain water. He took a large swallow and coughed again. “How could you like it like that?” he asked. The fact that everyone at the table was laughing at him had the tips of his ears going hot. He added another spoonful of sugar to his cup and stirred it in. “It’s . . . . sour!”

“I like it sour,” Jonathan said, finally taking a drink of his own lemonade. He didn’t react at all.

Simóne and Lou were giggling to themselves, mixing their own glasses of lemonade.

“You like it sweet?” Lou asked. He dumped another spoonful of sugar in his cup and pushed it over. “Here, I can make another one.”

Gethin took the glass and gave it an experimental sip, glad to find it tasting more like lemonade than lemon. He could feel his cheeks continue to burn as Jonathan tried to get his laughing under control. Lou adopted his old glass and managed to even out the proportions to make it drinkable again while Simóne snickered behind her straw. Gethin was on the verge of pretending to need the bathroom when Mayra appeared, sliding into the booth opposite of him and a boy, presumably her son, slipped in next to him.

“ _Bonjour_!” he chirped happily. “ _Je ne t’ai jamais vu avant_!” _I’ve never seen you before_.

Gethin blinked, the quick French catching him off guard. “Er, _j’aidais la peinture. Je connais_ Jonathan.” _I was helping paint. I know Jonathan._

“ _Anglais, cher_ ,” Myra said, telling her son gently that Gethin spoke English better.

“Oh! I speak English,” the boy said. “I learn it in school.”

“Marshall’s dad is from England,” Myra said to Gethin. “We’re hoping to move to him eventually so we both love practicing our English as much as we can.”

“Yeah, Mayra is leaving us this summer,” Jonathan said. “Leaving us for the big leagues.”

“Big leagues?” Gethin repeated.

Mayra laughed and started mixing her own lemonade as well as a second class for Marshall. “I’m leaving acting, you mean,” she said. “I’m not moving up a league or doing anything of the sort.”

“She means she’s starting an acting studio,” Lou said. “Lee, her husband that is, already bought a place and sent us pictures. We’re all jealous.”

“Jealous,” Mayra said with a snort. “Hardly. I’m going to miss being in plays. I’ll just be teaching. Maybe directing at best.”

“Mom is a witch,” Marshall said helpfully to Gethin, eagerly accepting his drink from Myra. “She is really bad.”

“Um, sure,” Gethin said. He knew Marshall was talking about his mom’s part in the play but it was a little strange to hear him talk about it so seriously. “But you’re mum’s really nice too.”

Mayra laughed. “You’re too sweet, Gethin,” she said. “ _Mille merci_.”

The waiter returned to take their orders, and they resumed chatting. Gethin asked about their different roles in the play, politely switching to French to talk with Simóne. Lou explained that while she understood most English words, she wasn’t fluent. She could keep up with their conversation and occasionally add her own comments in French. Gethin got the chance to ask her about the books she restored, and they got into a heated discussion over classics and novels. It was great to find someone equally passionate, and Gethin could almost ignore the way Jonathan’s hip rubbed against his or the way their knees occasionally knocked together.

Their food came, and true to Lou’s word, Gethin’s pasta was indeed very good and he quickly scarfed it down, surprised by how hungry he was. Painting really did work up an appetite. He drank more lemonade, letting Lou mix it each time so that it was perfectly sweet yet lemony. Marshall showed Gethin how to crack open the biscuits Jonathan ordered for dessert, pulling out the slips of paper and reading the fortunes inside.

“Fortune cookies,” Gethin said, unable to hide his pleasant surprise.

“Less American and more French,” Mayra said. “Biscuits of fortune. What does yours say?”

Gethin glanced at the tiny slip of paper in his hand and found that it was written in French. He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t read—“

Simóne offered her hand. “ _Je peux le lire_ ,” she said. _I can read it._

Gethin handed it over with a grateful smile.

“ _Vous d_ _écouvrirez quelque chose de nouveau_ _à votre sujet_ ,” she read with a smile, laughing and then passing it off to Lou.

“You will discover something new about yourself,” he repeated in English, handing the slip of paper back to Gethin. “I like it.”

“Don’t forget to stop and smell the roses,” Mayra read. “I didn’t even get a good one. What about you, Jonathan?”

Jonathan popped half of his biscuit into his mouth, crumpling up his fortune and tossing it next to his plate. “It says I’ll be kissing lots of cute guys tonight,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“Jona doesn’t believe in the future,” Lou explained to Gethin, prompting smiles and chuckles from Simóne and Mayra as if they had heard this before.

Gethin raised an eyebrow. That was a strange way to look at life. He looked to Jonathan who only shrugged. He was about to ask why when Marshall piped up with his fortune.

_”Vous trouverez un ami proche dans quelqu'un nouveau,”_ he exclaimed happily. “I will find a close friend in someone new! I bet that’s you, Geth.”

Gethin felt his throat tighten as Marshall stumbled upon his nickname. Of course, the little boy had no way of knowing Gethin’s mum was the only one who called him that or that he had moved away from home so abruptly. He only knew that Geth was easier to say than Gethin.

Gethin cleared his throat, quickly grabbing for his napkin. “Sorry,” he croaked. All eyes were on him, making it worse. “Sorry.” He jumped to his feet, tripping over Marshall in his hasty effort to get out of the booth.

He had no idea where the bathroom was so he headed for the front doors instead, stumbling out into the night. He sucked down a deep breath of the rapidly cooling night air, tipping his head up to stare at the stars. He pressed the napkin against his eyes when the tears threatened to fall. He was dimly aware that he was still holding his fortune.

“Hey, you alright?”

Gethin spun when he heard Jonathan’s voice. He tried to hide his wobbly voice behind a laugh and stuffed the napkin into his pocket.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

His traitorous vocal chords cracked on the last word, and he yanked the napkin back out, turning away from Jonathan’s probing stare. He didn’t even hear the footsteps and flinched when Jonathan slipped an arm over his shoulders.

“Sorry,” Jonathan said, pulling back slightly. “Should I—?” He let the question hand in the air.

“No,” Gethin managed. He relaxed into the warm embrace, glad, for once, that Jonathan was so tall that he couldn’t see his face at the moment. He dabbed up his tears as fast as they formed and tried to get his breathing under control.

“Do you want to go home?” Jonathan asked.

Gethin almost broke down completely.

“I mean back to the college,” Jonathan quickly corrected. “I’ll tell the others you are tired and have homework.”

“Yeah,” Gethin said. “That sounds good.”

Jonathan gripped his shoulders, steering him over to the moped and gently easing him down onto the seat. “I’ll be back soon,” he said and hurried back into the restaurant. He returned wearing his coat and carrying Gethin’s which he helped him put on, looping his sky blue scarf around his neck and fixing the pomp oms he had yet to chop off.

“Thanks,” Gethin muttered, swinging his leg over the vehicle as Jonathan mounted. Just as before, he wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s stomach, feeling his ribs stretch and flex.

He stuffed his napkin back in his pocket, opting to wiping his tears on Jonathan’s shirt instead. He prayed Jonathan wouldn’t notice the dampness as he buried his face between his shoulders, hiding himself from the world. The moped revved and took off. Gethin didn’t even notice how dangerous Jonathan’s driving was as they ducked in and out of traffic, flying over bridges, whizzing through parks. He was only aware when they pulled to a stop, and Jonathan shifted, working himself free of Gethin’s grip.

“Better?” he asked.

Gethin nodded. The wind had completely dried his eyes and Marshall’s voice was only a faint echo in his mind. He was definitely better. He clambered off the moped and stood next to Jonathan on the sidewalk outside his dorm building.

“Thanks,” he said, fumbling in his pocket to pull out his student ID card. “Sorry about that. Marshall just said something that –“

Jonathan’s fingers ghosted on his chin, tipping his head up. And then their lips were together. And then they were kissing. And Gethin could only stare wide eyed at Jonathan’s closed eyes, unable to even think. And then Jonathan was pulling away.

“Sorry,” he muttered, remounting his moped. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he sped off into the night.

Gethin stared out into the night. Now that he was close to the college, all the street lamps and neon signs blotted out the stars. He could see the moon; it was almost full. Its surface was a pale and silvery, almost shimmering in the glow of the city.

Gethin turned and walked to his dorm building. He scanned his card to get in and walked to his room. Lucas was on the couch in the common area, watching French TV. Gethin walked past him without a single _bonjour_ , moving straight to his bedroom. He took off his coat. Took off his scarf. Changed into pajamas. He flicked off the light and laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

A kiss.

And it hadn’t been bad. It hadn’t felt weird. It hadn’t left his lips tingling or his heart racing. It hadn’t flipped the world upside down or made his vision sparkle. Everything was exactly the same as it was before. Nothing magical, nothing supernatural, nothing out of this world. It had just been. . . . . normal.

A kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

Gethin started spending less time at the café and more time at the acting studio. Instead of maths and language arts, his mind became stuffed with painting techniques and mixing methods. He learned the basics of sewing from Simóne and helped stitch up patches in the costumes. He even learned makeup techniques from Lou, how to highlight the cheekbones and mix color on the eyelid. He laughed to think that he was learning more with the troup than he was at actual college.

And Jonathan had started acting different.

Not a completely bad different, but just different. He still smiled his broad smile and laughed and joked with everyone around him. Except Gethin. He seemed to tip toe around Gethin. Not obviously, but his voice wasn’t as loud and his jokes weren’t as smooth. He would bring Gethin coffee and sandwiches, sometimes small trinkets like key chains or small statues. And then, today, a small box of chocolate macaroons.

“You don’t have to,” he said, when Jonathan set the box down next to him. He was working on painting vines and flowers into the evil fairy’s cottage and had a plethora of pain buckets surrounding him. No place for pastries. “You’re spending too much money. I don’t need any of this stuff. Why are you even buying it?”

The words came out harsher than he intended, and he felt a tad guilty. But to his surprise, Jonathan blushed.

“They’re apologies,” he said. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Gethin asked, frowning at the treats. They really did look good, maybe he shouldn’t have refused them.

“I . . . . . . . I kissed you,” Jonathan said. “I didn’t ask; I just did. That was rude. I mean, I don’t even know if you’re—“ The words stuttered, and he ducked his head, staring at his shoes. He finished the thought in an embarrassed mutter. “If you’re gay or not.”

Now it was Gethin’s turn to blush, and his paint brush wavered over the area he was working on. He quickly distracted himself by working on getting the swirl of petals on the next flower just right, but Jonathan’s words echoed in his mind.

Gay or not.

He had never really thought about it. Attending school, it was always boys with girls: during games, during partner projects, during Valentine’s, and during Christmas. It never occurred to him that he could like something – someone – else. He tried to think of a time where he had found a boy remarkably attractive. Well, there was Jonathan. No one else really. He painted a few more leaves and then sat back, turning to answer Jonathan.

Except he was gone.

And the macaroons were still sitting next to him.

Gethin wanted to go took for him, but Sylvie would kill him if he didn’t get the cottage finished today. And he was barely halfway done. He didn’t have time to waste to go off and look for Jonathan, so he shifted into a more comfortable position on his makeshift seat of paint cans and tried to paint as fast as he could.

He thought he finished in record time, but when he asked Lou where Jonathan was, Lou said he had left hours ago.

“He was really set on getting the lights in place as fast as he could,” he said. “He was really focused too. No joking. No fooling around. All serious today.”

Gethin couldn’t help but feel a blow at that. Had he hurt Jonathan? Offended him?

“Do you need a ride to the café?” Lou offered. “Because I can easily take you. It’s no problem.”

“Thank you,” Gethin said, albeit a little distractedly. “I mean, thank you. Honestly. I have no other way back.”

Lou just gave him a smile. “I have to finish up painting this bush and then we can leave. I’ll be done soon.”

Gethin thanked him again and found a place to sit out of the way. He munched guiltily on the box of macaroons, ashamed that he found them delicious and after the first bite, couldn’t stop himself. He was halfway through the baker’s dozen when it was finally time to leave.

Lou drove a small car, a nondescript white thing. As Gethin climbed into the passenger seat, he felt awkward. After riding out in the open on Jonathan’s moped, traveling in a covered vehicle, unable to feel the wind and cold, was strange indeed. But Lou was talkative enough and had the radio on as white noise practically the entire time, some French commentary that Gethin didn’t recognize.

He stared out the window and thought about Jonathan. Gethin hoped he would be at the café, maybe hanging out with Timeo, drinking espressos and chatting with the baristas. Gethin thought of his golden curls and shining brown eyes, how he laughed and smiled and joked. How he had wrapped his ugly purple scarf around his neck the first time they had met. How he moved whenever he talked about acting and how he was so sure of himself, like he didn’t exist on accident. He was on purpose.

Was that love? Did that make him gay?

Gethin wasn’t sure. Couldn’t you find beauty in something without being attracted to it? Couldn’t he find Jonathan heart-stoppingly gorgeous without being gay? Putting it that way, perhaps not.

“We’re here,” Lou said, jarring Gethin out of his thoughts. “Thanks again for helping us on set. It’s great with the extra hands.”

“Of course,” Gethin said, hoping his blush wasn’t too obvious. “Thanks for the ride.” Grasping his half empty box of macaroons, he clambered out of the car and gave Lou one last wave as he drove away. He’d left his bag and books in the café, tucked them away in the corner. No one ever disturbed them, and like every other day, they had been left alone.

He gathered them up, grunting at the weight. He really needed to get back to college to get some of his homework done. At the same time he thought that, his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he had painted all through lunch and hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He glanced at his phone for the time. If he hurried to the park, he could catch some of the last vendors and grab some of the last vendors and grab something quick to eat. As the weather continued to improve day after day, more and more vendors had started showing up. The variety was welcomed by Gethin who preferred it to the cafeteria food of the college.

He quickly walked out of the café and hurried down the street. He left his coat open since the sun had decided to show its face finally, letting his scarf drape over his shoulders as well. He hoped there were sandwiches or something similar for sale. He wanted something that he could eat and walk at the same time.

The gardens were slowly coming to like. Not only were more people idling in the paths and vendors occupying the corners, but the plants were regaining their color and the groundskeepers had planted flowers in the vases that would bloom later on.

And the geese.

Great flocks of ornery, selfish, over-confident geese wandered the lawns, picking on the smaller birds and stealing any food that was set down for more than ten seconds. Their grey feathers were beautiful and silvery and soft-looking but their beady, black hateful eyes warned you that if your fingers got too close, they would be snapped off by cruel beaks. They traveled in packs, never fewer than a dozen, usually larger. All the locals knew to steer clear; it was the tourists that were usually victimized.

Gethin had yet to truly experience the tradition of being bossed around by one of the big ganders. He smartly kept his distance after seeing a pack steal a package of bread from an older woman there to feed pigeons. The geese had shredded the plastic in seconds and gobbled down the bread like the selfish gluttons they were. It had given him shivers, and he had steered clear ever since.

He found a sandwich stall much to his delight and purchased a chicken and mayo sub with generous helpings of vegetables. He munched it as he strolled, people watching and enjoying the weather. He almost tripped over his feet when he spotted the bobbing head of blonde curls across the green, heading the opposite direction of him.

Jonathan!

His heart skipped a beat and he choked on his half chewed bite of sandwich. He forgot about the awkward words they had exchanged this morning and he forgot about the homework that weighed heavily in his backpack.

“Jonathan!” he called, waving his sandwich in the air. “Jonathan!”

It was no use. The lawn was too large and the chatter of people and vendors must be too much to be heard over. Jonathan was walked fast anyway, probably with people to see and places to go. Gethin tried yelling one last time.

“Jonathan!”

He couldn’t lose him now. He hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulders, folded the package of his sandwich carefully closed, and took off running across the green.

“Jonathan!” he yelled. “Jonathan! It’s me!”

People were staring at him, probably wondering who this strange English man was and why he was acting like a mad man. Gethin didn’t really care. He had to get Jonathan’s attention.

A loud squawk made him stumble to a stop as a gander, bigger than anything he had ever seen, flapped into his path, hissing a warning. Gethin, in his eagerness, had run straight into its territory and the large bird wasn’t happy. Its harem of females were close behind, honking incessantly as Gethin got too close to their nesting area. They weren’t in breeding season yet, but they were protective of their future homes. Whoever hadn’t been staring at him before was definitely staring at him now as the hoard of geese surrounding him, bobbing their heads and honking at him to leave. He suddenly heard Jonathan’s voice.

“Gethin?! What the hell are you doing?!”

Gethin glanced up and beamed when he realized his had finally gotten Jonathan’s attention. He waved his sandwich and then cringed as the gander hissed at him.

“Trying to tell you I love you!” he yelled back. “And the kiss. The kiss was fine! I didn’t mind!”

“What?!” Jonathan yelled back.

Gethin frowned. Hadn’t he heard? Maybe the geese were too loud. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Trying to tell you I love you!” he yelled, even louder than before.

“No, I heard that,” Jonathan said. “But why are you surrounded by geese?”

Gethin shrugged. “They hate me?”

“But why?” Jonathan asked. He was starting across the lawn now, trying to get as close as he could without alerting the geese to his presence.

“I don’t know,” Gethin said. He tried to inch around the angry gander, but the great beast didn’t take a liking to his movement and charged, hissing. Gethin jerked back, trying to avoid the snapping beak. That was when his sandwich came unwrapped. And that’s when a couple tomatoes fell out.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

The geese forgot about the trespasser and lunged for the food, all squabbling to get the first grab at it. Their honks turned into shrieks as they all mobbed around Gethin’s feet. Gethin staggered, not wanting to step on any of them but having to resist the urge to run. As he wobbled though, his sandwich ripped more fillings, sending the geese into an even greater frenzy. Gethin looked to Jonathan pleadingly.

“Help!” he said. If he went down, the geese would sure as hell trample him. And he wasn’t really in the mood to be trampled by water fowl.

Jonathan looked just as panicked as him though, and he didn’t have any food to distract the geese with. He stood helplessly on the outskirts of the thrashing frenzy, his hands uselessly groping the air. “Run!” he finally suggested, holding out a hand to Gethin.

Gethin locked eyes with him, took a huge breath, and ran.

His sandwich shed fillings as he ran, and the gang of geese followed after him, snapping at his heels and the scraps of food. They honked and shrieked and hissed, beating the air with their wings. Jonathan grabbed Gethin’s outstretched hand and pulled him into a faster run, and together, they sprinted across the lawn, chased by the squabbling gang of geese.

“You are crazy!” Jonathan yelled at him.

Gethin laughed and whooped, pumping his sandwich in the air and making it loose more fillings.

“Drop the sandwich!” Jonathan yelled.

“No!” Gethin yelled back. “This is my lunch.”

“I’ll buy you lunch!” Jonathan said. “Drop the fucking sandwich if you want to live!”

Gethin dropped the sandwich. They didn’t stop running until they reached a small grove of trees on the opposite side of the lawn. They stopped in the shade, bracing their hands on their knees as they gasped for breath. Gethin couldn’t stop smiling but Jonathan was more serious.

“Never,” he said in between gulps for breath. “Never have I seen anyone piss off the geese that bad.”

“I needed to get your attention,” Gethin said.

“You could’ve done it without getting mobbed by a flock of hormonal geese,” Jonathan said, but he was less annoyed looking and starting to smile.

A low growl made them both stiffen and turn. The gander was a couple feet away, apparently not satisfied in giving up the chase. The feathers on the back of its neck were fluffed, and Gethin swore he’d never seen a bird look so hateful or spiteful in his entire life. He grabbed for Jonathan and Jonathan grabbed for him, their fingers locking together. The gander stalked forward, hissing now. If it didn’t look like murder incarnate, its hulking waddle would’ve been funny. As it was, well, Gethin was glad his bladder was empty.

“Run?” he asked.

“Our best option,” Jonathan said. “Would be to slowly back away, so as not to alarm it into attacking further. Ganders are more aggressive towards moving objects than to stationary object.”

The gander bobbed its head up and down, gauging how it should commence attacking them. Its feathered head puffed up even more, making it look larger than it actually was. It hissed deep in its chest and took a lumbering step forward.

Gethin gave Jonathan’s hand a squeeze. “So,” he said. “Run?”

“Run,” Jonathan agreed.

They bolted again, leaving the shrieking angry goose in their wake.

“Tree!” Jonathan said, tugging Gethin in the direction of the closest tree.

Gethin didn’t question it, jumping for the lowest branch and pulling himself up. It was hard; his backpack weighed heavy on his back, wanting to pull him back down to the ground. He grunted as he pulled himself to safety. Jonathan did the same, and together, they clambered higher. They were a good ten feet off the ground before Gethin paused for breath.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Can’t geese fly?”

“Shit!” Jonathan spat.

The hulking gander didn’t look too eager to take flight though. It beat the air with its wings, sending out great gusts, but didn’t actually put any effort into getting off the ground. Gethin figured it was either too fat or too lazy. Either way, he was grateful that the goose only stalked circles around the base of the tree. For now.

“How are we supposed to get down?” Jonathan said. “That bloody beast isn’t about to leave us alone.”

The gander hissed up at him, as if understanding the words, but stayed on the ground. To make matters worse, the other members of the flock had finished scarfing down the sandwich and were making their way slowly over. In a couple minutes, the entire tree would be surrounded, and they would be trapped for who knew how long.

“What shitty luck,” Jonathan said. “Maybe someone will help us.”

Not likely. None of the footpaths passed near enough to the grove to make their dilemma evident. As far as the park goers where concerned, the flock was just resting in the shade. Yeah, getting help from someone was pretty unlikely. The weight of Gethin’s backpack made him remember that they had resources.

“We can help ourselves,” he said firmly, pulling off his scarf. “We make our own luck.” Using his teeth, he ripped the pom-poms off the ends of his scarf – six in total.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan asked, looking horrified. “You’re ruining it!”

“I’m saving us,” Gethin corrected, shoving the pom-poms into Jonathan’s hands. “Besides, I was thinking about cutting them off anyway.” He pulled his backpack in front of him and unzipped the main pocket, pulling out a wad of napkins he had offhandedly stuffed in there. “We can distract the geese with these,” he said, unfolding each until they flapped lazily with each breeze. “They geese will think it’s food and chase it.”

“But won’t they choke if they try to eat it?” Jonathan asked. “I don’t want a dead goose on my hands.”

“They’ll rip the napkins apart,” Gethin said. “And they are too think to choke on even if they are swallowed. As for the pom-poms, they’ll probably unravel them before realizing they aren’t food and by then, they’ll be the perfect lining for their nests.”

Jonathan beamed at him. “You’re amazing,” he said.

Gethin smiled back. “I’m not an idiot for getting us stuck up a tree?”

Jonathan braced himself and leaned across the trunk, planting a quick kiss on Gethin’s lips. “I got us up the tree,” he said. “You’re the one who stumbled right into the gander’s territory.”

Gethin laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up at the kiss. He wasn’t quite used to this yet, but he was getting there. “Throw on the count of three,” he said.

Jonathan nodded. “And then run like shit,” he finished.

Gethin couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Three, two, one,” he said. “Now!”

Jonathan flung the pom-poms hard to the right, and Gethin threw the napkins to the left. The wind caught the items for a brief moment, taking them further before depositing them on the ground. And just like before, the geese went wild at the prospect of more food. Even the gander abandoned its post at the bottom of the tree to investigate a pom-pom that had fallen close to it.

“Come on!” Gethin said, pushing himself off his perch. He half fell, half climbed down the tree until his sneakers thudded against the ground, Jonathan only seconds behind him.

The geese were already tearing the napkins apart, spreading the pieces like confetti that rained down around them as Gethin and Jonathan bolted for safety once again. And Gethin laughed as the gander hissed in fury behind them, outraged to see its prey escaping. And Jonathan laughed along with him as they ran hand in hand, legs pumping, lungs gasping. Gethin didn’t feel tired. He felt the opposite of tired. And he decided with himself, as he stole sideways glances at Jonathan’s bouncing curls and beaming smile, he decided.

This was love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More attrocious French

Gethin stared at his phone. The messages from Lane were beginning to pile up. He answered some, yes, but most were vague questions about how he was doing and how classes were going. There were only so many times he felt like typing and sending the word “good.”

“Hey, Scarves!” Lou called, leaning out of the window of his car. “Ready to go?”

Gethin hopped up from where he had been sitting on the curb outside the café. He shoved his phone deep into his pocket, doing his best to forget about the texts when he saw Jonathan’s blonde curls bobbing in the back seat. He hurried over, sliding into the back, giving Lou a quick _bonjour_ and slipping his fingers into Jonathan’s. Jonathan grinned and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“Thanks for helping us out,” he said. “Especially with the performance coming up in a week. Everyone is scrambling to get everything done.”

“Especially Simóne,” Lou said with a laugh. “She’s been scrambling to get all the costumes finished. Plus memorize her lines. She’s ready to tear her hair out.”

Gethin grinned. “Well, I’m glad I can provide some extra hands,” he said. “And I think it’s fun. It’s great to get away from school.”

“The backgrounds are mostly done,” Jonathan said. “We’re all really helping Simóne with the sewing.”

Gethin nodded. While his stitches weren’t as perfect as Myra’s or as small as Lou’s or as detailed as Jonathan’s, he was able to sew decently well. He was jolted out of his thoughts as Jonathan gave his hand a sudden squeeze, tracing small circles on the back of Gethin’s hand with his thumb. Gethin glanced at him and smiled. Lou turned the radio on, saying something about wanting to catch scores on some game that happened last night.

Gethin daydreamed as the announcer babbled in French and Jonathan traced the bumps of his knuckles.

At the studio, Simóne was bustling around the backstage, pins clenched tight between her teeth and a pile of fabric scraps in her arms. She was snapping at everyone in French. Her normally smooth hair was frizzed from lack of care. As soon as she spotted them, her tired eyes lit up, and she pounced on them.

“ _J’ai dix costumes es des millions de choses_ _à faire, Lou. Je fermerai le cou de quelqu’un si je dois cousiner un bouton de plus qu’ils ont délibérément arraché_ ,” she said in one big rush, dumping the pile of fabrics on Lou. “ _Littéralement, je vais foutrement arracher la tête de la personne suivante qui me demande sur les differences entre la dentelle et de la gaze_.”

Lou let out a nervous laugh and petted her hair down. “She’s just a little stressed,” he said. While Lou didn’t translate it at all and it was too fast for Gethin, he did think he caught a couple swear words. “With the play coming up and the costumes aren’t quite done yet, she’s just a little worried.”

“ _Inquiet? Juste fucking inquiet?! Vous salope cochon cul, allez baisez-vous! Je vais arracher votre bite et vous faire manger si vous ne m’aidez pas. Droite. À present_ ,” Simóne snapped, glaring at them all.

Gethin pretended he didn’t understand the swear words spilling out of her mouth. Jonathan only laughed, and Gethin glanced at him, wondering if his palm was itchy and tingly just like his. If it was, he certainly wasn’t acting like it.

“We’ll help you, Simóne,” Jonathan said. “ _Nous allons vous aider_.”

Simóne rolled her eyes, spitting out the pins onto the floor. Lou bent to quickly pick them up. “ _Damn droit vous m’aider_ ,” she said. She rattled off her instructions in snappy French, and this time Lou helpfully translated.

Gethin found himself adding a glittery gold border to the suit that the cursed prince would wear once he returned to being human. Of course, Jonathan was also helping him, since he actually was the cursed prince and Gethin needed to get the measurements right. It was a little awkward to say the least. Gethin learned that anything the actors did on stage was hardly sexual, even if the scene was supposed to be sexy. The atmosphere was kept professional and joking, even the sleeping-kissing scene between the prince and princess at the very end of the play. But Gethin wasn’t part of the theater. He didn’t understand how they could all do kissing so nonchalantly. So when he found himself sewing next to a shirtless Jonathan, Gethin was more than a little embarrassed.

“I think the chest is too tight,” Jonathan said as he pulled on the prince’s jacket.

Gethin snapped his head up, frowning. “What do you mean?” he said. “I checked it twice.”

Jonathan pulled it closed and tried to do the buttons, but they couldn’t quite reach. Gethin made a noise in the back of his throat and jumped to his feet, tossing aside the cape he had been working on. He rushed to Jonathan’s side and began feeling the jacket, looking for places he could unfold the hem and maybe lengthen the jacket the couple, desperately-needed centimeters. When nothing was obvious on the outside, he pulled it open and ran his fingers through the inseam. Still nothing. Maybe Simóne could find something he couldn’t.

“Woah, handsy, aren’t we. I was kidding about it being too short,” Jonathan commented, and Gethin felt his cheeks go hot when he realized he was practically groping Jonathan’s chest.

He jumped back, covering his face automatically. “Oh, damn,” he said. “Damn, I’m sorry. Oh shit!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said with a laugh. Gethin flinched when he felt his hands—had they always been that big?—sneak their way onto his waist and tug him closer. “I didn’t mind.” He tipped Gethin’s chin up and leaned down for a kiss.

Gethin pulled back without thinking, pushing Jonathan away. He felt bad when Jonathan flinched, and his hands dropped off Gethin’s hips.

“I’m sorry,” Gethin said, feeling his cheeks go hot again. “I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry. What will they think? What will everyone think?”

Jonathan frowned. “They don’t care,” he said. “They know about me.”

Gethin swallowed. “But they don’t know about _me_ ,” he said.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” Jonathan said. “If they’re okay with me, well, they would also be okay with you.”

Gethin managed a smile. “How about I just go back to fixing your shirt,” he said, trying to step back up to Jonathan’s side. He just felt awkward now though. He took a shaky breath. “Do your pants need fixing too?” God, every word out of his mouth sounded worse and worse.

Jonathan laughed with him. “Actually, yeah,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “They are too short around the ankles.”

Gethin checked for himself and actually giggled when he was able to see Jonathan’s fire engine red socks poking out from the creamy tan fabric of the prince’s trousers. He flopped down on the paint cans he was using as a seat and tossed his spool of thread aside.

“Well, I can’t fix that,” he said. “I’ll have to get Simóne. I think we could still let out the hem or something. She’s gonna freak if we have to sew a whole new pair.”

“Her French is deadly,” Jonathan said with a laugh.

He offered a hand to Gethin and pulled him up to his feet and into an embrace. Gethin hid his smile in the prince’s jacket and snuggled closer to the warmth of Jonathan’s exposed chest. He snorted a giggle as Jonathan pressed quick kisses on his ears and jawline.

“Stop it,” he said, playfully pushing against Jonathan but not making any real effort to get away.

Jonathan moved his hands to Gethin’s sides, letting his fingers roam over the fabric. Gethin twisted uncomfortably, unable to hold back his laughs. He retaliated, working his fingers under Jonathan’s ribs and grinning as Jonathan jumped in surprise.

“You two better not be ruining the costumes,” Lou called from some place off stage. “Simóne says. She thinks you two are making a lot of noise to be working.”

Gethin and Jonathan jumped away quickly, and Gethin snatched up his needle and thread. He patted his cheeks to get rid of his blush and glanced shyly at Jonathan who returned his look with a cheeky grin.

“We’re good,” Gethin called back.

“And we haven’t ruined anything,” Jonathan added. “Tell Simóne that my pants might be too short though.”

Moments after the words left his mouth, Simóne popped out from backstage. Her hair had escaped the bun she had pulled it into and had frizzed around her face. She looked like she desperately needed coffee. She frowned at Jonathan’s feet and then glanced at his shirt. She muttered under her breath and then called to Lou. Gethin did his best to duck out of her line of sight so as not to incur her wrath. Lou appeared, toting a large box with sewing supplies. Simóne rattled something off to him in French and gestured at Jonathan’s feet.

“We’ll fix it,” Lou promised, forgetting himself for a moment and repeating it in French. He looked just as tired as she did, and he hadn’t even been working as long.

Gethin stepped back, resting on a stack of paint cans. He smiled as Jonathan was forced to become a living mannequin for Simóne and Lou. Not that it was a horrible thing. As Simóne worked, Gethin could study Jonathan without trying to hide his interest.

The jacket was still open, exposing his wide chest, decorated sparsely with blonde-nearly-pale hair. He didn’t have overly defined muscles. In fact, barely any muscles at all. He had an actor’s body, soft from spending days lounging at coffee shops and reading scripts, but fit enough to jump around on stage and get into character. Gethin pressed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Jonathan’s stomach was cute. And his hips. The pants were slung low enough to need a belt but high enough to hide everything important. Gethin never considered hips to be attractive before today, but Jonathan’s were somehow god-like. Gethin swallowed without thinking, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Simóne began tugging the pants down, testing to see if they could be worn lower or if a true fix was needed. She then sighed and grumbled under her breath, popping up to her feet and with deft fingers, undoing the button and zipper of the pants. She tugged them all the way down with no ceremony, smacking Jonathan’s shins to get him to step out of them. He was left in nothing but his boxers as Simóne confiscated his jacket as well.

Gethin bit his lip. Legs for miles.

Simóne dragged Jonathan off to the wings backstage where Gethin knew there were more sewing supplies as well as huge bolts of fabric and mannequins for posing. He took the moment to admire Jonathan from behind, starting at his shoulders, trailing down his spine, pausing at the dimples in his lower back, and then going even lower, feeling like a girl watching their school crush play football. Jonathan did have a nice arse.

“Someone always ends up in their underwear,” Lou remarked, sitting down next to Gethin. “Just last week it was Simóne. Her dog tail wasn’t fitting right.” He giggled like a little boy and gestured to the stage. “She was running around in her underwear just like Jonathan. And the week before that was me. Who know, maybe by the time we actually perform, you’ll be in your bare knickers as well.”

He had meant it as a joke, and Gethin laughed even though his ears went red hot.

“Simóne will sort everything out,” Lou continued, smiling in the direction she had disappeared. “She’s great.”

Gethin studied him for a moment, wondering if he should ask or not. He decided that he should. “Do you . . . . like Simóne?”

Lou straightening in his seat, stiffening and then relaxing with a resigned sigh. “Is it obvious?” he said glumly.

Gethin smiled, knowing the feeling. Of course, no one had caught onto him yet.

“But she doesn’t want me,” Lou said, looking down at his hands. “She’s—god, she’s going to get a scholarship to Cours Florent. This play is basically her best work yet. Not only is she playing one main character and two background characters, but she’s helped with the props and sewn practically every costume. Every acting school wants her from here to Australia. And I’m, well, if Simóne leaves and Myra leaves too, it’ll be me, Sylvie, and Jona, and we won’t be able to put together and entire play. Even then, I think Jona is aiming to go to Cours Florent too.”

Gethin hadn’t thought about Jonathan’s future. Not that he didn’t care; he had just been too busy living in the present. They had been rushing around preparing for the play that it had hardly had the chance to come up. They hadn’t talked much about themselves either. Gethin made a mental note to ask Jonathan all about his hopes and dreams the next time he had the chance. Maybe, he would take Jonathan out to coffee at the café and listen to him ramble. Gethin would love to listen to Jonathan ramble.

“You’ll be fine, I think,” Gethin reassured. “I’m sure something will come up. Maybe Simóne will notice you.”

Lou shrugged. “I’ve accepted my fate,” he said. “I’ll be okay. I guess I’ll dunk fries until I find another group. Or maybe go to college, like you. Get a nice, shiny education. That’s what everyone wants these days.”

Gethin sighed. “Well, it’s not as good as it looks,” he said. “Basically just tons of work.”

“Just like the theater then,” Lou said jokingly. “Ah, whatever. I’ll figure it out.”

There was a crash backstage and then a string of French curses erupted, followed quickly by them translated in English. Gethin glanced worriedly to Lou who didn’t seem too concerned. Still, Gethin couldn’t help but think of Jonathan.

“Should we . . . . . help?” he asked.

Lou blinked as if he hadn’t even heard the commotion. “What? Oh, no, Simóne can handle it. Besides, I think it was just a mannequin.”

Gethin chewed on his bottom lip but had no choice as Lou dragged him off to finish some last touches on some of the props. Lou showed him how to paint the fake, plaster gems of the princess’s jewelry and how to add shadows to the fake wooden staff to make it look more wooden. They double checked the arrangements of fake flowers that would be in the garden scene and the furniture that would be in the seen in the houses. With the play only a short week away, everyone was rushing to make sure things were perfect. Cours Florent representatives would be coming, and both Simóne and Jonathan had to give good impressions if they wanted to get into the elite acting school.


	10. Chapter 10

 

Gethin was in his dorm room, muddling his way through his literature class’s assigned reading. It was a think, heavy book written by some ancient Frenchman about war and famine and love. It was definitely a challenge. Gethin found himself yawning on more than one instance. He kept a pot of coffee on hand for when his eyelids got too heavy. It wasn’t the sweet, fruity coffee like from the café all dressed up in syrups and flavors. This was acrid, homemade coffee that was only really made for one reason: caffeine. Gethin was even wondering about the rare pills that other students whispered about. Pills that were pure energy and caffeine that could keep you awake for days. Honestly, Gethin was too scared to ask.

He was distracted in the middle of a sentence when there was a knock on the front door of his dorm room. Lucas was out in the common area, watching TV. Gethin crossed his fingers and hoped Lucas would get it so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. Besides, he had to restart his paragraph anyway because he couldn’t remember what he had been reading.

“I’m looking for Gethin. Oh? _Pas d’anglais? Je cherche_ Gethin.”

Gethin jumped up at the familiar English, feeling a smile grow across his face as he peered out of his bedroom and noticed Jonathan in the doorway. Gethin wanted to run to him and grab him in a hug and kiss him until his cheeks were flushed and lips red and raw. Instead, he bit his lip to hold himself back.

“ _Merci_ , Lucas, _c’est juste_ Jonathan. _Je le connais_ ,” he said quickly. _It’s just Jonathan. I know him_.

“Ah, Gethin!” Jonathan said, breaking into his trademark wide smile. “Come on, the troup is celebrating!”

Gethin didn’t question it. He quickly hurried back into his room to grab a light jacket and his scarf before hurrying past an annoyed Lucas on the couch and out the door to Jonathan, pulling the door shut behind him. Gethin grabbed him in a quick hug, hopping up to give him a quick kiss on his cheek. Jonathan returned the gesture by scooping Gethin up under his arms and spinning him around. Gethin felt like a child as his cheeks burned red.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked, slipping his hand inside Jonathan’s.

Jonathan only shrugged, sending him a sideways smile. “Because I could,” he said. “Because you’re so small.” He patted Gethin’s head. “Because I want to pick you up and carry out everywhere. You belong in my arms.”

Before his blushing got too out of control, Gethin decided to quickly change the subject. “Why are you at the college?” he asked. Not to be rude, but the actors never really came around.

“We’re celebrating,” Jonathan said. “Sylvie and Myra and Simóne and I. It’s a tradition when we’re this close to performing.”

Oh yes! Gethin grinned. The very first premier of Fairer-than-a-Fairy was only two days away. At the thought, Gethin felt his stomach flip flop with worry. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t going to be up on stage. He had actually purchased tickets for every showing, the best tickets, front and center. Sylvie had given him a discount since he bought them in bulk. He wanted to be there every time.

“We go drinking together,” Jonathan explained, leading him out of the dorm building. “We give ourselves a day to recover, and hangovers are the best cure for pre-play jitters. It’s hard to be nervous when your head is pounding in time with your heart.”

Gethin laughed with him.

Lou was waiting for them by the curb, his car running. Gethin noticed Simóne in the passenger seat. She looked pretty, make up all done up and in a cute silver dress. Lou’s cheeks were red. Jonathan and he slid into the backseat, breaking their hands apart until they were back side by side again.

“Myra and Sylvie are already at the place,” Lou explained, mostly to Gethin.

Simóne gave a whoop. “ _Nous allons faire la f_ _ête_!!!” she yelled.

Lou laughed. “And Sim has already been sneaking drinks.”

Simóne pulled a flask out of her clutch purse and offered it to Gethin, motioning for him to drink. He did, mostly because he didn’t want to be ranted at in French and also because Jonathan was egging him on as well. It was harsh, bitter, and burned the back of his throat as it went down, leaving him coughing and sputtering. Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh while Simóne took her flask back, downing a drink for herself without flinching.

“I thought you Englanders knew how to hold your drink!” Jonathan teased.

“Welsh,” Gethin corrected between coughs. “And I can, it’s just—god, what is that stuff?!”

“Absinthe,” Lou answered, motioning for the flask so he could take his own drink. “Isn’t it the best?”

It felt like Gethin’s throat was on fire. Yeah, of course he’d drunk beer in high school. Classic beer. Enough to get drunk, enough to give him a hangover. But _this_. It felt as if the absinthe had jumped out of the flask and socked his jaw and then gushed down his throat after setting itself on fire. To hell with feeling it the next morning, he was already feeling it _now_.

“Absinthe is a tradition,” Jonathan said.

Gethin was starting to think everything was a tradition.

The club-bar they arrived at wasn’t crazy. At least, it wasn’t as crazy as Gethin had been imagining. The lights were normal, and a pretty normal band was playing on the stage at one end of the large room. There wasn’t any crazy dancing and the bartenders seemed civil and normal. Jonathan ordered drinks for everyone while Lou led the way to the table where Myra and Sylvie were sitting.

“You finally made it!” Myra said. She smiled at Gethin. “How’s college going?”

“Oh, good,” Gethin said. “Most of the major projects are done.”

“Good!” Lou said. “Because you probably won’t remember tonight, and alcohol isn’t the best method of studying.”

Simóne toasted his words and Sylvie followed suit, each of them taking a drink as Jonathan arrived with a tray of everyone else’s. Gethin accepted the one that Jonathan offered even if he was a little suspicious of its pale pink color.

“Daiquiri,” Jonathan said. “Strawberry-cranberry something or other. It’s sweet, don’t worry.”

Gethin blushed as Jonathan remembered his preferences after the lemonade incident. Thankfully, his embarrassment was hidden by the dim lighting of the club-bar, and no one noticed. He still took a careful sip but found the drink delightfully sweetish with only a vague burn of rum as an afterthought. It was delicious. Gethin took a braver sip.

Jonathan handed out the rest of the drinks. Soon, everyone had a glass in their hands and were chatting comfortably. They were less careful about speaking in English, however, but Gethin kept along. He could understand almost everything until it got too fast. Jonathan always made remarks in English too, thankfully, and Gethin could always count on him to translate if it got too much. After a second round of drinks, everyone began gathering their belongings and heading toward the door.

“What is it?” Gethin asked Jonathan. “Done already?”

Jonathan laughed and looped an arm around Gethin’s waist, his inhibitions slightly hindered by the alcohol. “Not even close,” he said. “This place had good drinks and cheap prices. We get started here, and finish someplace else.”

“ _Fleur de Lys_ ,” Lou provided, jumping in on the conversation. “Has good dancing. _Bien_ dancing. _Jolies danseurs!”_ With alcohol in his system, he had a harder time remembering with language he was supposed to stay in. “We go there and dance _nos coeurs_!”

“And then,” Jonathan continued. “We each find a person to kiss. And go home happy.”

Gethin couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Even Myra seemed a bit tipsy. They all seemed familiar and happy with each other, like a family that wasn’t a family. Gethin could understand Lou’s regret. When they each left, when the group finally broke apart, it would be exactly like losing loved ones. A ball of ice settled in his stomach. What would _he_ do if the group even broke apart? Would he stay in France with Jonathan, supporting him when he got into Cours Florent? He couldn’t just abandon What's the Word though. It had been his dream to open a bookstore for his mum. Would Jonathan abandon his own dream of acting school just to come to London? No likely. Suddenly, Gethin didn’t want the night to end. He found Jonathan’s hand and threaded their fingers together and squeezed them tight. Jonathan seemed to sense his discomfort because he stepped closer, so that their shoulders knocked together and they were practically stepping on each other’s toes. Gethin didn’t mind. He liked having Jonathan’s huge, reassuring presence so close.

The dancing club was just as good as Lou made it sound. It was a lot flashier than the first club, with wild lights and loud music. There were a couple tables shoved off at the edges of the room and a small bar lit with a couple normal lights on one wall. Other than that, the entire space was cleared for dancing. And people were dancing. Dancing like they didn’t care. People with their hands up and hips jerking and people bobbing their heads and people thrashing like they were on fire. People who clearly had no right to be dancing. And yet they were.

Gethin smiled at the chaos mostly because he could perfectly see Jonathan in the middle of it all. It was like there was an empty space in the middle of the crowd: an empty Jonathan-shaped space that was waiting to be filled. And Gethin had no doubts that Jonathan would most definitely fill it tonight.

“Come on,” Lou coaxed, bypassing the bar and heading straight for the floor. “ _Pas de temps à perdre_!”

Gethin grinned. No time to waste indeed. With Jonathan’s hand clenched tightly in his own, Gethin let himself be pulled out onto the tiled floor and into the pulsing throng of bodies. If he were on his own, he would’ve been trampled, but Jonathan was with him. And Jonathan was tall. And Jonathan fit perfectly into the Jonathan-shaped hole and to Gethin’s surprise, a Gethin-shaped hole opened up for him too. And it was right next to Jonathan, right by his side, gazing up as the lights gave him a neon halo, making look like a techno colored angel.

Jonathan caught him staring and smiled, grabbing his hand and twirling him. Gethin laughed in surprise as Jonathan pulled him into his chest. Only Jonathan. Only Jonathan would try to ballroom dance in a club that was playing techno hip hop. And he did it damn well good, surprisingly. So well, in fact, that he was able to twirl himself around, lifting Gethin’s arm high so he could fit. And the he twirled Gethin again. And then he _dipped_ him. Gethin laughed as he was pulled back to his feet, the blood rush and alcohol giving him a heady feeling.

“You’re a good dancer,” Jonathan said, having to raise his voice to be heard above the music. “I never knew.”

“But you’re leading,” Gethin said, feeling embarrassed. “This is hardly dancing.”

Jonathan beamed, apparently taking that as a challenge. “Then I’ll show you dancing,” he said.

He pulled Gethin to his chest, grinding his hips and shaking his ass. Gethin, cheeks quickly going hot and red, could only laugh as Jonathan humped his leg like a horny dog, tipping his head back and howling at the ceiling. He ripped his shirt open, chest glistening with sweat, and raised his hands in the air. Other people around him, sensing the change of mood, cheered him on, backing away to give him a clear circle to dance in. Gethin was jostled off to the side as everyone gathered around to watch Jonathan. He didn’t mind much. He got caught up in the clapping and cheers as everyone started cheering Jonathan on. Gethin clapped along with the beat, laughing as Jonathan played to the crowd.

He winked at the ladies and smirked at the guys. He wiggled his hips and stomped his feet. He seemed to feel no shame as he pulled out dancing moves that should’ve long since died away. He danced and danced and danced, and Gethin watched and cheered with the crowd and smiled and felt himself fall more in love.

Until Jonathan was motioning for Gethin to join him. Doing that stupid rope pulling move. Trying to pull Gethin to him, a sly smirk on his face as he mimed pulling a rope hand over hand. Gethin grinned, felt himself blush, and tried to resist. But Jonathan seemed to be tugging directly on his heart strings, and Gethin found himself stumbling out into the floor, like he actually was being pulled by an invisible rope. The crowd cheered for him as well, and Gethin wanted to tell them all that he couldn’t dance and that he couldn’t move like Jonathan could and that they shouldn’t cheer. But Jonathan pulled him into a spin as the lights flashed and dipped him directly when the beat dropped. And Gethin was left breathless and smiling, the alcohol and love warm in his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Gethin stumbled after Jonathan as they exited the club. Lou and Simóne were giggling at something behind them, and Sylvie and Myra were flirting with the bouncer. Gethin wasn’t sure why he had let Lou order him another drink, and another, and another, and another. But that had happened and now his legs were less than steady underneath him and he had to cling to Jonathan for support. Not that he minded.

“To the show,” Lou said, raising his empty hand in an empty toast.

Everyone else repeated the gesture though, now caring, as they repeated his words. “To the show!”

“And to many more,” Jonathan added at the end which prompted another round of cheers.

Myra fumbled with her phone to check the time and sighed. “Ah, I have to go,” she said. “I told the babysitter midnight. Some of us have more adult lives than you.”

“We do not judge,” Sylvie reassured. “We only live life.”

“Amen!” Simóne added, her accent dripping thick but amazingly understandable.

“Are _you_ going home?” Gethin asked Jonathan, threading their fingers together. His mind was fuzzy and unfocused and he was having a hard time deciding if the night was young or old.

Jonathan grabbed his face and pulled him into sloppy kisses which meandered from his lips to his cheek. “I want to go home with _you_ ,” he said. “Or you could come home with me. I don’t even know. I just want to spend time with you.”

Gethin giggled, his drunken self finding it endlessly amusing that Jonathan was just as drunk as he was. Tipsy. Turvy. Stumbling. They were both unsteady, and it might be the first time that Jonathan had to fish for words when talking with Gethin. They held each other’s hands and stepped on each other’s toes. They got in each other’s space without meaning to, but neither of them minded.

Lou and Simóne were the same way, arms linked as they stumbled down the sidewalk behind them, passing Simóne’s flask back and forth with childish giggles. Simóne’s lipstick had smeared somewhat at the corner of her mouth, probably where Lou had snuck a kiss.

Sylvie had picked up some bloke. When, Gethin didn’t know. But now they walked hand in hand, nearly forehead to forehead, smiling as they gazed into each other’s eyes. They looked so love-struck and star-crossed, Gethin would’ve been jealous if he didn’t know he was looking at Jonathan the same way.

“Taxi!” Jonathan called, stepping off the curb and raising his arm.

Gethin tugged him back with a smile, keeping him from wandering all the way into the street. A taxi did end up pulling over for Jonathan, the driver didn’t look that unnerved by driving two drunks because he accepted Jonathan’s money and worked his way through Jonathan’s choppy mix of French-English until he had an address, and then they were off. Gethin vaguely remembered to look over his shoulder to check on Lou and Simóne and Sylvie and Myra. They were all getting into their own taxis, so Gethin assured himself that they would be fine. His attention was tugged back to Jonathan as he was suddenly pulled into a kiss.

“I love you,” Jonathan mumbled as he planted kiss after kiss on Gethin’s lips and his cheeks and his jaw. “I love you so much.”

Gethin laughed and kissed him back, clutching to his huge shoulders and pulling them together. “I love you back,” he said. “I love you a million times back.”

Jonathan pulled Gethin to his chest, onto his lap, on top of him. His fingers fumbled at the top buttons of Gethin’s shirt, shoving his jacket down off his shoulders. “I love all of you,” he said. “Just-just all of you.” He pulled Gethin’s hands to his mouth and he kissed the knuckles. “I love your hands.” He kissed the wrists. “I love your arms.” He leaned up and kissed the hollow of Gethin’s throat. “I love this.” He then kissed Gethin square on the mouth. “And I love your voice. God! I love your English.”

Gethin laughed, working his own fingers through the buttons of Jonathan’s shirt. “I love all of you back,” he said.

They laughed and kissed and got tangled in each other on the back seat until the driver was snapping at them in French and Spanish and Italian and a dozen other languages that they didn’t speak until he discovered English.

“Out with you now, I do not like that,” he said. “Out with you now, I do not like that. This is your stop. Out with you now.” Those must be the only phrases he knew because he repeated them until Gethin and Jonathan were on the sidewalk, flushed and breathless.

“At least we are here,” Jonathan said, turning to the apartment building. He pulled Gethin into and open-mouthed kiss, nibbling at his lips. “We don’t have to walk far.”

Gethin playfully pushed him away. “Then let’s go,” he said, tugging Jonathan toward the building.

He didn’t know why he was so eager. He was never like this any other time. But tonight was different. Paris was different. Gethin’s skin itched, no, it tingled. Everywhere Jonathan touched him felt on fire, and that felt amazing. Gethin wanted more. He wanted to feel that on his entire body. He wanted to be touched and felt and looked at and seen. And Jonathan did just that, and Gethin was in love.

They stumbled through the lobby, only getting a suffering look from the doorman who was probably tired of people coming home drunk at obscene times of day. Jonathan fumbled with his keys, taking three tries before he was able to insert it and successfully unlock it.

And they tumbled into the apartment, all hands and sloppy kisses. Jonathan kicked his front door shut, tugging at the sleeves of Gethin’s jacket. Gethin shrugged it off, helping Jonathan with the buttons of his own shirt. He giggled as Jonathan kissed his throat, tilting his head back as Jonathan’s blonde curls brushed against his jaw and his lips against the hollow of his throat. Was he ticklish? Gethin didn’t know and he didn’t really want to think about it. All he cared about were the clothes separating him and Jonathan and how they needed to get rid of them as soon as possible. Jonathan tore off his shirt as soon as Gethin had the buttons undone and he pushed Gethin back, guiding him towards the bedroom.

They collapsed onto the bed, Jonathan on top of Gethin. Their lips still locked together, and Gethin was still struggling to get his own shirt off while Jonathan was already working on the buttons on Gethin’s pants. He couldn’t help but laugh, pushing him back up, breathless from the kisses.

“Wait, wait,” he said, undoing the buttons himself. “You’re so impatient.”

“I just want you,” Jonathan said, his voice husky and dry. “God, I’ve been holding your hand this entire time and I want _you_.”

Gethin wiggled out of his pants and then his boxers, biting his lip as he watched Jonathan do the same. It was like the dress rehearsal but more. And now, Gethin had Jonathan had Jonathan all to himself and he didn’t have to be embarrassed if he got caught staring. It was just them. Just them together and nothing in between. Gethin leaned up and grabbed Jonathan’s shoulders, pulling him down on top of him, finishing the kiss they had started in the hall. It was messy. It was crazy. It was hot. Jonathan pulled back for a breath.

“Should I?” he asked, fingers drifting to Gethin’s hips, silently asking for permission.

“Yeah,” Gethin said, thrusting his hips up to give Jonathan access.

Jonathan grabbed something from the nightstand next to the bed. He ripped open the condom and rolled it on; Gethin swallowed at the action. God, everything he did was attractive. Jonathan could plunge toilets and look like a model.

Jonathan leaned down over Gethin, kissing up the center of his chest to his throat and effectively  making him forget everything he had just been thinking. He mouthed the skin as he gripped Gethin’s hips and pulled him up. It burned at first, the sensation leaving Gethin gasping, clutching at Jonathan’s back. Jonathan covered his mouth with his own, easing back carefully.

“No,” Gethin managed, trying to pull Jonathan back. “No, I’m okay.”

“Sure?” Jonathan asked.

Gethin nodded, and then Jonathan was pushing again and this time it wasn’t as bad. Gethin groaned as Jonathan entered him completely. The feeling was foreign and strange, but the pleasure drove him nearly mad. He had kissed girls before, sure. Asked to touch their boobs and dry humped in the janitor’s closet while they made out. None of that came close to comparing to this.

Jonathan was a hundred times different from Gethin’s silly middle school crushes. He was a hundred time _better_. And the way he moved was hypnotizing and Gethin found himself moaning as Jonathan rocked in and out of him.  The bed creaked with their movements, and Jonathan panted words and broken sentences.

“Love you,” he said, as he slid in. “So much. God. Love you so much. Beautiful. Gethin. Geth. _Love_. You’re beautiful.”

Gethin smiled as his name fell from Jonathan’s lips. It was like getting a new name, a new identity. He clutched Jonathan back and kissed his jaw and neck and shoulder and fingers and told him he loved him back. He wanted to spill his life out in front of Jonathan so that they could know each other in the most intimate sense. He wanted to clutch Jonathan tight and never let go.

Jonathan started moving faster as Gethin adjusted, and each entrance had Gethin gasping in pleasure. He rocked his hips up to meet Jonathan’s strokes. Tingling heat collected under his bellybutton, making him whimper with longing. Jonathan seemed to radiate heat as well. Nothing overwhelming. It felt comforting and safe. Gethin wanted to stay in Jonathan’s arms forever. He gasped, suddenly as Jonathan hit a spot deep inside of him.

“’M close,” Jonathan said, curling over him.

And Gethin realized he was close too. He pulled Jonathan down into a deep kiss, and Jonathan thrust in one last time, burying himself in all the way and letting go. Gethin gasped at the foreign sensation but then his mouth was covered by Jonathan’s and trapped in a moan.

They lay there together, both drowsy from their orgasms. Gethin never thought such a common act could be so satisfying.

Jonathan spooned him from behind, tangling their legs together and hugging Gethin close to his chest. His hands rested on top of Gethin’s stomach, and Gethin’s hands rested on top of his. He smiled when Jonathan kissed up the back of his neck and nibbled on his ears.

Gethin rolled over so he could kiss Jonathan on the lips. Which escalated to a hair-grabbing, rough-tonguing, scrambling, desperate make out moment that left Gethin gasping for breath when they finally broke apart. Even in the dark, he could see Jonathan’s eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Can I say something?” he asked softly.

Jonathan brushed his fingertips along Gethin’s jaw and smiled. “Of course,” he whispered back.

“I think I’m gay,” Gethin whispered giddily.

Jonathan grinned back at him. “Are you now?” he said, pulling Gethin into a tight, naked, very much gay hug, tucked directly under his chin.

“Yeah,” Gethin said with a giggle, drawing circles in Jonathan’s skin. “I think I am.”

“Well,” Jonathan said, planting a firm kiss on the top of his head. “I’m glad I could help you find yourself.”

Gethin smiled to himself and closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax against Jonathan’s chest. The moment was perfect. And they both drifted off to the melody of each other’s hearts beating in time with each other.

It was the most perfect thing that Gethin could ever imagine.


	12. Chapter 12

 

Gethin groaned as a faint ringing brought him out of his sleep. Which then prompted a dull throb in the back of his brain. At first, he didn’t know where he was. And then the comforting weight of arms around him and the heat of another body reminded him of last night.

And he smiled.

It’s a strange thing, waking up naked. Gethin’s first instinct was to wrap the sheets and blankets around him to hide from whoever walked through the bedroom door. It felt vulnerable and wrong, but then Jonathan grabbed him tight and pulled him into a hug, snuggling his face into the back of his neck. Gethin closed his eyes to savor the moment and abandoned the blankets. He didn’t feel vulnerable or wrong lying next to Jonathan. He felt safe and warm.

And then his damn phone rang again.

Gethin groaned and squinted open his eyes, struggling to find his phone in the harsh glare of morning light. When he leaned over to grope the floor beside the bed, Jonathan pulled him back with a groan.

“Don’t leave,” he muttered. “So cold.”

“Phone ringing,” Gethin replied, wiggling a little further out of Jonathan’s grip. “Gotta check.”

Jonathan growled playfully, pressing his forehead between Gethin’s shoulder blades. He kissed him gently as his hands roamed lower and he gave Gethin’s ass a squeeze, prompting a squeak of surprise.

“Off,” Gethin ordered with a smile.

“Ah, you’re no fun the morning after,” Jonathan said, his voice all rumbly with morning exhaustion. Sexy, in Gethin’s opinion. It made him not want to leave the bed.

But then his fingers closed around the cool surface of his phone which was still ringing insistently. He grunted as he pulled himself up onto his elbows so he could unlock his phone and answer the call. He froze, though, when he saw the caller ID. Jonathan must’ve felt him stiffen because then he was rolling over, arms still draped around Gethin’s waist as he rested his chin between his shoulder blades.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Who is it?”

Lane. The name caught in throat, and Gethin didn’t want to say it out loud. Instead, he declined the call and tossed the phone back onto the floor. He forced a smile onto his face and twisted to face Jonathan.

“No one important,” he said, trying to shrug off the call. “Come on. You can’t squeeze my ass and not expect me to want something more.”

“Oh!” Jonathan said, crawling on top of Gethin and grinding his hips as he went. “I like this new, gay you.”

Gethin liked this new him too. The him that didn’t feel awkward about the way he could feel Jonathan getting hard against his leg. The him that gladly dragged Jonathan’s face up to his own and dove into a deep kiss. Jonathan’s lips were rough and he tasted like sleep. Disgusting, but apparently gay Gethin didn’t care.

“Why don’t we just lay here all day,” Jonathan muttered in between kisses. “Good morning kisses, lazy afternoon sex, and tonight—“ He dipped his tongue into Gethin’s mouth. “We can eat strawberries off each other’s asses.”

Gethin actually giggled at that thought. The plan actually sounded wonderful. Had he ever spent an entire day naked before? The thought sounded scandalous. He wondered what he had to do today, if anything, that would prevent him from going along with Jonathan’s plans. The answer came to him like a punch to the gut.

School! Goddamn school!

He couldn’t miss a day of school, not when finals were ever so slowly creeping up on him. Every day stuffed with critical information that he didn’t dare miss if he wanted to score well on the tests. Plus, his professors were all “very proud” of him for keeping up a perfect record so far, his being a foreign student and all.

“School!” he blurted stupidly, sitting bolt upright and shoving the blankets off.

Jonathan groaned at the cold air. “Do you have to?” he grumbled. “One day doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I have tests,” Gethin explained. “And notes to take. I can’t miss a day. What if I miss something important? I’ll be back tonight, I promise.”

He pushed the blankets off and climbed out of bed. And nearly doubled over at the pain that shot up from the base of his spine. He moaned, using the bed as support seeing how it was nearly impossible for him to stand straight. Jonathan was laughing at him from under the blankets.

“You feel it?” he teased. “That means you’re _really_ gay then.”

“You didn’t tell me I wouldn’t be able to walk afterwards!” Gethin said, locating his underwear and fumbling to pull them on.

“Would you have stopped me last night if I had?” Jonathan asked.

Gethin thought about it. “No,” he decided. “But a nice warning would’ve been nice.” His jeans were next, kicked halfway under the bed. His shirt, lying next to them, was slightly wrinkled.

“You’re going to have a fun time sitting down!” Jonathan called as Gethin hurried out the bedroom door.

“I’m stealing your coffee!” Gethin yelled back. “Dammit, I’m going to be late to class if I run by my room to get my books!”

“Then stay in bed.”

Jonathan had pulled himself out of bed and was standing in the doorway, blankets slung over his shoulders. It was obvious he was still naked underneath. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, propped one hip against the wood. He yawned and wiped sleep from his eyes.

“I’m sure one day of classes won’t hurt,” he promised. His voice still had the morning huskiness to it, tempting and gravely. “And I’ll help you study every night before final exams.”

The pot of coffee was done, and Gethin found a travel mug in the second cupboard he search. He filled it to the brim, hoping that the dark, bitter taste would wake him up before his first class. He took the first sip which turned into a quick gulp of the scalding liquid.

“Yeah, and I’m sure we’ll study _tons_ ,” Gethin said sarcastically. “About as much as last night I’d bet.”

Jonathan only smirked. “I’d help you with your memorization,” he said. “And geography.”

Gethin could imagine the peaks of Jonathan’s hips dipping into the valley of his pelvis. The soft mound of his stomach and the lines around his eyes. Yeah geography. He shook his head.

“I have to go,” he said, even letting a mournful tone enter his voice. “Tonight, I’ll be back. My roommate will be glad to be rid of me. We can do more then.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” Jonathan said.

Gethin blew him a kiss before hurrying out the door. Well, hurrying as much as his ass would let him. Dammit, next time, Jonathan was going to be on the bottom if this was how it was going to be every morning. Gethin gulped his coffee and flagged a taxi to get back to campus.

Classes were hell. He ended up being ten minutes late to his first class. Not bad considering he stopped to refill hiss – Jonathan’s coffee mug before collecting his books. To make matters worse, his ass was throbbing the entire time. He popped two ibuprofen but that hardly did a dent. So he was left hunched awkwardly in every seat and sighing in relief when he managed to slump in a recliner in between classes.

Near the end of the day he was buzzing with caffeine, hardly able to wait to see Jonathan again. The whole acting troop actually. Gethin wasn’t quite sure how everyone was handling hangovers. On a second thought, maybe he shouldn’t disturb them. He would sip his water and mind his own business. It was just as he was walking out of his last class that he got a call. And he actually answered it.

It was Jonathan. How could he not?

“What’s up?” he asked.

Jonathan laughed. “You want to guess?” he said, his voice teasing.

Gethin went red at the implications.

“I’m just kidding,” Jonathan said. “But you should come back once school is done. I have some amazing news!”

Gethin could hear his excitement and he smiled as he walked back to his dorm room. “Well, then tell me now,” he urged.

“Okay!” Jonathan sounded glad that he didn’t have to wait. “You’ll never believe it! Simóne just texted me! An apparently there are going to be representatives from Cours Florent attending our play!!”

Cours Florent. Gethin remembered it as the acting school that both Simóne and Jonathan were dying to get into. If a representative saw them in Fairer-than-a-Fairy, they would most certainly get in with hefty scholarships, maybe even full rides. Gethin smiled at nothing in particular, fumbling with his dorm key while keeping his phone at his ear.

“That’s amazing!” he said. “They’ll take you! They have to! Once they see your role at the prince, they will be at your feet _begging_!”

“I hope so,” Jonathan said. Now he sounded worried. “What if I forget my lines?! What if I stumble on stage?! If I mess up, even a little, they’ll refuse to take me!”

“Deep breaths,” Gethin coaxed, dumping his backpack on his bed and heading to his closet. “I’m coming over right now.”

There was rustling on the other end of the line as Jonathan moved. “Fuck, I need to go over my lines,” he said. “I need to, like, drill them directly into my brain right now.”

“I’m coming,” Gethin promised. “We can read them together.” He hurriedly stuffed clothes into a duffle bag.

“I wonder if Simóne is nervous,” Jonathan said. “God, I bet she isn’t. She’s so cool.” He sighed. “I’m going to eat ice cream until you get here, okay?”

“Wait, don’t!” Gethin said, frantically one-handedly zipping up his bag. “Jona, you know that any extra pounds and you won’t fit in your costume!”

“This is a _celebration_ ,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to be fine.” That was convincing. His voice was sad. Clearly, eating was one of his coping mechanisms, not just a celebratory reaction.

“Stay away from the freezer!” Gethin said, hurrying back out the front door with his duffle slung over his shoulder. “And I’ll be there in under ten minutes!”

“I think I have cookies and cream in here somewhere,” Jonathan mumbled quietly.

Gethin gritted his teeth. “Don’t do it, Jona,” he pleaded. “I’m coming! Just stay strong!”

It took Gethin eleven minutes to get to Jonathan’s apartment, and each second of the extra minute was like waiting for a phone call back from the doctor. Or something. And when he burst into Jonathan’s apartment, his eyes landed immediately on a Jonathan curled up on the couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows and going to town on a carton of ice cream.

“No!” Gethin shouted without meaning to. He lunged for Jonathan and snatched the ice cream away.

“I need that!” Jonathan protested, grabbing for it. He didn’t actually moved from his blanket next though, so he only moved about half a foot before settling into a grumpy lump.

“Where’s your script?” Gethin demanded, snagging the cover to the ice cream carton and snapping it on. He returned it to the freezer and found the script on the counter. Snatching it up, he hurried back to the living room to rescue Jonathan.

“I’m just so unsure,” Jonathan said with a groan, burying his face in a pillow.

“You know your lines,” Gethin said, climbing onto the couch next to Jonathan. “We can go over them until you’re confident. Ready?”

“Fine,” Jonathan said, flopping down on Gethin’s lap.

Gethin smiled and petted his fingers through Jonathan’s hair, worrying the curls carefully so he didn’t pull too hard. He flipped to the first page and cleared his throat and started reading.

“Once upon a time, there was born a princess who was prettier that anything in the world, even the fairies. She was so beautiful, in fact, that her parents named her Fairer-than-a-Fairy.

And in the same kingdom, there was a prince cursed to live in water and the only way he could talk was through a rainbow.

And nobody knew that they would change each other’s lives.”


	13. Chapter 13

Opening night of the play.

Hell, even Gethin was nervous. He was dressed in his best outfit he had brought from London and that meant dress pants a little short at the ankles and a suit jacket a little tight around the chest. He had pressed his best white button down carefully so that there wasn’t a single wrinkle, but now he was worrying the hem of his sleeve between his teeth, unable to stop pacing back and forth in front of his seat even as other guests filed into the rows and took their own seats.

Everyone else, of course, was backstage, getting ready for when the curtain was pulled up. Gethin wasn’t really needed. If anything, he would get in the way as they rushed back and forth and added final details to everything. Instead, he was stuck out in the auditorium as the seats slowly filled up and his stomach filled up with butterflies. How could Jonathan stand this?! Gethin wanted to throw up!

He finally plopped down, bringing his nails between his teeth instead of the soggy fabric of his sleeve. He checked his phone for the third time. Only two minutes to go. Most of the seats were filled by now, and the other people chattered softly to themselves. Gethin ignored them for the most part. He was only really concerned with if Jonathan was ready. If all of the group was ready.

The lights suddenly dimmed, and a moment later the curtain rose.

Sylvie stepped into the spotlight. She was wearing the bejeweled dress of the princess’s opening scene, a pale pink floor length gown with two hoops of skirts at least. Her hair was flawlessly pinned up and had been carefully curled between hot irons hours before. They framed her face in caramel-ley waves. Her makeup had two different jobs. The exotic colors and jewels made her look other-worldly and fey-ish, indeed fairer than any fairy. It also protected against the flash of any cameras. She looked untouchable underneath the harsh beams of light.

“Welcome!” she said with a beaming smile. She spoke in French, but by now Gethin was much more proficient, at least enough to understand what was being said. “Welcome to the first performance of Fairer-than-a-Fairy. We hope you enjoy the show.” She bowed to the scattered patches of clapping.

The curtain lowered and Gethin’s breath caught in his throat. It was finally time. Finally happening. This was it. He clenched the armrests of his chair and leaned forward.

And just like that, he was sucked into the story of a girl born so beautiful, that even the fairies were jealous. Sylvie danced across the stage and twirled in her dress, singing in French and winking at the crowd. She sang and danced until one of the oldest fairies stole her away and locked her in a cottage.

Myra looked devilish in her evil fairy gown of muslin and lace and sheer cuts. Sharp wings of pitch black kohl jutted back from the corners of her eyes, and her black lipstick made her smile glimmer whenever her teeth flashed. She carried herself exactly like an old fairy would, shoulders back with a certain swagger to her step. Gethin wasn’t sure how she managed to do it so well in heels.

And he wanted to absolutely cheer when Lou and Simóne appeared next, each dressed as the princess’s cat and dog. They bickered and teased just like their animals would in real life, and Gethin laughed to himself because he knew that it was only half acting and mostly real life.

He smiled as the scenery changed to the beautiful garden that he had helped make. There were the flowers that he had painted of course, as well as pots of fake flowers to make the garden more real. Sylvie spun through the props and sang about missing home. It was tear jerking, and Gethin found himself dabbing at his eyes a couple different times in the song.

And then the rainbow was wheeled out and Gethin beamed like a dork as Jonathan’s voice carried over the sound system. The cursed prince didn’t actually appear until the very end, but he was able to talk through water and rainbows.

Jonathan sang about his prison and being trapped away from his family. He told Sylvie how beautiful she was. Sylvie sang in return, telling him about the jealousy of the fairies and how they had imprisoned her at the cottage. Even the beautiful garden wasn’t enough the hold back her dreams of home. And then they sang together about missing their family and about the curses that rested on their shoulders.

Gethin found himself in tears by the end of the piece. Not only was it amazingly beautiful, but he found himself relating to the lyrics about missing family and the feeling of home. Jonathan’s voice was so beautiful. Gethin wiped his cheeks and tried not to sniffle too loudly.

The song about home transitioned seamlessly into one about their curses, and when the princess learned that the prince was trapped in water, there was a dramatic piece sung by Sylvie about how she would save him. She sounded amazing with Lou and Simóne singing back up harmony that the people next to Gethin were also reduced to tears, dabbing at their eyes. There was a boy and a girl a couple seats down from him that were all out balling. Gethin would’ve laughed at them if he wasn’t also crying as well. When did he become such a sap?

And then the true action started.

Sylvie escaped from the cottage with her cat and dog and battled fairies and trolls alike before finally defeating the evil, old fairy herself with the help of Lou and Simóne of course. She made her way back to the castle and used a fishbowl on the windowsill to contact the prince. Which then resulted in the most heartbreaking piece sung by Sylvie under the glow of a silvery spotlight. Moonbeams. She even wore a pale blue dress and silver makeup that looked like tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Anyone who wasn’t crying before was definitely crying now.

And then the action came back as Sylvie disappeared back stage, reappearing in leather britches and a forest green shirt. Gethin knew that her dagger was a foam prop but it still gave him a thrill when she pulled it out with a flash and fought off even more bad guys with the help of Lou and Simóne, always the trusty sidekicks.

And then came the big finale.  

With a flash of light, Sylvie found the secret passageway in the back of her castle, opening it with a magic key. There was a flurry of a scene change as she travelled down the stairs to the secret room. Gethin was on the edge of his seat, as was everyone else, when she finally reached the bottom.

And the golden beams of the spotlights focused on a stone dais in the center of the stage. And there was Jonathan, all stretched out in a magical sleep, cursed to never rise and to only speak through rainbows. He looked like something out of a dream and Gethin could only see half his costume and makeup. He had red and blue eyeshadow and heavy eyeliner to help with the glare of the spotlights. His lips were a metallic green and he had swirls of yellow highlight on his cheekbones. His costume was mainly black, with a heavy cape that draped around him. The inside flashed with a rainbow fabric, and his shirt was a glimmer-y gold. The Rainbow Prince.

The music built in a thundering crescendo as Sylvie sang a reprise about all her adventures, from being captured herself to her fights with the fairies and trolls to how her dog and cat had helped her. She sang with such emotion and heartbreak that Gethin was crying again. Sylvie collapsed on top of Jonathan’s sleeping form with a sob of her own and under the glare of every spot light the building had, she kissed him wide awake.

It was the happy endings to top all happy endings.

The crowd shot to its feet with thunderous applause, whooping and cheering.

Jonathan had to strain to be heard as he sang his thankfulness to Sylvie for waking him up and freeing him from his curse. His French was a deep baritone that seemed to thrum through Gethin’s chest and left him with goosebumps and a dopey smile. He clapped until his hands hurt and then he whistled until the crowd settled down and everyone sat back down. Gethin was brimming with energy and he grinned as Jonathan sang the closing song and he and Sylvie got married and kissed again, and that riled the crowd up all over again.

Finally, the curtain fell, closing off the end scene. And then it rose again as all the actors came back out to bow and smile and wave. Gethin cheered extra loud when Jonathan walked out hand in hand with Sylvie. His makeup was amazingly flawless and his smile was dazzling as he beamed and bowed and turned the attention to Sylvie so that the crowd could cheer for her.

She still wore her blue dress from the mourning scene with her tear drop makeup. Gethin whistled and clapped for her as well, just as loud. The cheering didn’t stop so everyone had to bow a second time and then a third time and then after the fourth time the crowd finally gave it a rest, and Sylvie announced that they could meet the characters after a brief intermission and to look for them at the base of the stage.

Gethin eagerly moved from his seat, wanting to be the first in line. When he got to the stage, Lou and Simóne were already kissing, and Myra was hugging an older gentlemen with her son Marshall bouncing around her legs. Other guests had beaten him to the meet-and-greet, and a line was already forming to shake their hands. Gethin bounced eagerly on his toes, hardly able to sit still. He wanted to run to Jonathan but figured the other guests would hate him if he cut in line.

He was four people away from meeting everyone when a woman in a suit shoved past both him and the line and sashayed up to Jonathan and Sylvie. She had to be around her mid-thirties, much too old for a pining groupie. Gethin frowned as she shook both their hands with a big smile. A smile that both Sylvie and Jonathan returned eagerly.

She began talking with her hands, waving enthusiastically as she spoke about whatever they were speaking about. Jonathan nodded and smiled, agreeing with whatever she said. Sylvie furrowed her eyebrows and counted on her fingers. Gethin was just far enough away that he couldn’t pick out the French. It was frustrating, being just out the Jonathan’s touch, just out of his circle, just out of his line of sight. It felt like being stranded.  

And with the woman talking with them, the line wasn’t moving. Gethin fidgeted anxiously.

Lou, Simóne, and Myra all stood off to one side, fidgeting just as much as he was. The woman wasn’t talking to them, only Jonathan and Sylvie. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the woman handed both of them a card, gave them one last handshake, and flounced past the line again, not giving Gethin a glance.

Gethin scowled after her but at least the line was moving. In under a minute, he was with the troop.

“You guys were amazing!” he exclaimed, gesturing to them all at once.

“I saw you in the front row,” Lou admitted. “Made me less nervous.”

“I’m so glad you could make it, considering your classes,” Myra said, giving him a quick hug.

Simóne didn’t seem to want to let go of Lou’s arm but she gave him a smile anyway and muttered something in quiet French to Lou.

“She says she was very happy to see you in the crowd,” Lou said.

“And you guys!” Gethin said, turning to Sylvie and Jonathan. “You were absolutely amazing!” He stepped forward, a little hesitant, awkward. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hug or even touch Jonathan in public. What they had felt like a big secret between themselves.

But then Jonathan grabbed him up and held him tight, spinning him in a circle. He smelled like sweat and perfume and makeup. Like the theater. Gethin was pretty sure he left a smudge of foundation on his cheek when he finally pulled away.

“Your face the entire time!” he said. “I watched from backstage.”

Gethin couldn’t help but follow Jonathan’s hand as he tucked the slip up paper into his pocket. It was stupid, but he felt a knot start to form in his throat. “Who was that woman, by the way? She talked to you? Held up the line?” he asked, trying to thread his fingers through Jonathan’s.

Jonathan pulled away. “The representative from Cours Florent!” he exclaimed happily, grabbing Sylvie’s hand instead. “She was very impressed with both of us. Gave us each her number! And told us that the college would _love_ to have us this fall semester.”

Sylvie beamed back at him, her makeup glittering around her eyes. “She was very generous with her praise,” she said. “I still can’t believe she caught the sub-textual themes between the princess and her parents! I wish we could’ve talked longer.”

Gethin paused, trying not to show his confusion on his face. If Sylvie and Jonathan got the scholarships, then what about Simóne? Lou had seemed so certain that she would be noticed. With both the costumes and the acting. She wouldn’t meet his gaze when he tried to catch her eye though.

“This is insane!” Jonathan went on, still gushing with Sylvie. “The second song – you absolutely nailed it! I swear, the entire crowd was on the edge of their seats!”

“Jona,” Gethin said, grabbing his sleeve to get his attention. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Jonathan caught his hand and gave it a squeeze with a hopeful smile. “Later, babe?” he said and glanced to the line of people that were still waiting to meet them. “There’s a lot of people.”

Gethin tried to swallow around the lump in his throat and let his hand drop back to his side. “Okay,” he said and then realized how unenthusiastic he sounded. “I mean that’s fine, okay, I’ll just wait backstage.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan said, leaning down to plop a quick kiss on his cheek. “I knew you would understand.”

Gethin forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said and before his disappointment could show, he slipped off into the side rooms off the main stage.

The dimly lit space still smelled like makeup setting spray and paint, sweet and acid mixed together. He plopped down on a trunk of costumes and sighed. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Some grand gesture? How many relationships had he been in so far? The laughable amount of zero. He just figured . . . . . .

Sex _meant_ something right?! He and Jonathan had sex – that meant a relationship, right? They had so much together, so much connection and everything. Did that count for anything? He wasn’t even aware he was crying until the tear drops dripped off his cheeks and onto his knuckles. He quickly wiped them away be even more spilled out. He bit his lip to stop the whimpers. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone burst into the room with a sob of their own.

Simóne.

She didn’t even seem to notice him as she grabbed the lapels of the nearest mannequin and threw it to the ground with a crash. She ripped off her headband dog ears and flung them against the wall. It broke against the brick before falling to the ground. Then she spotted him on the trunk. There was a moment where she just stared, her bottom lip quivering as she tried to hold herself back. Finally though, she seemed to abandon the task of holding herself back and buried her face in her arm as she collapsed on the ground with a sob, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Gethin wasn’t even sure what to say. Nothing in English. He was too choked up to try to think of the right French. At least Simóne didn’t seem too interested in talking.

So they sat together in silence and cried over things they couldn’t control.


	14. Chapter 14

Gethin threw himself into his studies, not wanting to think about opening night of the play. He still went of course; he hadn’t bought all those tickets for nothing. He sat in the front row and wore his suit every time. He clapped and cheered after his favorite songs.

He skipped the meet and greet though. He let everyone else get in line to meet their favorite character and let that be that.

He saw the woman, the representative, at the play too. That was just a low blow to his pride. She sat a couple seats down from him every night. _Every night._ It took every ounce of his self-control not to march straight up to her and tell her off for taking Jonathan away from him.

But that would just be selfish – making this all about him. Jonathan _wanted_ the scholarship. He _wanted_ to go the Cours Florent. Did he want to leave Gethin behind as well? Leave his boyfriend behind?

Maybe . . . . Gethin swallowed at the thought . . . . maybe they weren’t boyfriends. Maybe they weren’t _that_ invested. Gethin tried to pull himself away from the situation, tried to look at Jonathan without full blown, head-over-heels feelings. A one night stand – that was it. He tried to steel himself and act like a guy that had one night stands every day.

He couldn’t.

God, how helpless was he?! He’d had crushes before. Middle school, high school – girls that had been cheerleaders or bookworms. Girls that he had taken to the prom because that’s what was expected of him. Because his mom had been asking and badgering him about who he would be bringing home to dinner. He had dropped them after one night. What was stopping Jonathan from doing the same thing?

Gethin swallowed, ashamed at the tears in his eyes.

God. Fucking. Damn. It. All.

He reined himself in and turned his attention back to the play. It was an emotional scene, one that usually had the guests on the edge of their seats. He had seen it before though. It wasn’t as tear-jerking the third time around.

He sighed as the Sylvie stepped down the stairs of her castle and the stage and costumes changed with a flourish. The people sitting on either side of him gasped in wonder and covered their mouths. A girl two seats down whipped out a handkerchief to dab the tears from her eyes. As Sylvie sobbed and threw herself onto Jonathan’s prone body, Gethin couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he muttered to no one in particular as he stood and hurried down the row. He received some muttered complaints about blocking the view, but he ignored them. He was too focused on navigating the rows in the dark with tears blurring his eyes.

The bathroom was empty, obviously. No one would be leaving the play so close to the ending. So Gethin had his choice of stalls to hide in and a dozen different cold toilets to sit on. He chose the first one and plopped down, grabbing a wad of toilet paper to press against his eyes. He sat there in the cold, choking back his tears until his deep breathing calmed him enough so that he wouldn’t fall apart at the drop of a hat.

“Pull yourself up, Geth,” he muttered to himself, flushing his wad of toilet paper. “Now’s not the time to fall apart.”

He washed his hands even though there was no real reason to. When he slipped out the bathroom doors, he could hear the thunderous applause, signaling that the play was, indeed, over. This was the last night that it would be put on and all the seats were packed full. People would be pushing and shoving to get a good spot in line for the ending meet-and-greet. It would be quite a while before people began to filter out of the theater’s front doors. So, Gethin let himself peek through the door at the back of the theater.

All the characters were out on stage, bowing and curtsying to the crowd’s delight. Gethin felt his heart clench when Jonathan stepped up to center stage. He wore the Rainbow Prince’s cape and his makeup was god-fucking perfect. He even winked and played to the crowd as the clapped and cheered for him. When he tried to step down, they only cheered even louder and didn’t stop until he swept Sylvie into his arms and kissed her on the lips.

Gethin didn’t make himself watch any further. He ducked out of the theater and took the next bus back to the college.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobic slurs used unironically

Gethin had to fly back home.

It was in inevitable after the year of school and completing finals, but he still felt a pang in his chest as he packed up all his clothes and things for the journey home. He checked his texts every minute, looking for one from Jonathan. They had talked a little after the play had ended. Just a little. A text here and there. They had gone out for coffee and Jonathan had told him all about the acting college he was going to and what a great opportunity it was. Gethin had listened and laughed and congratulated him like a good boyfriend would.

Or a good friend would. Whatever they were. Gethin wasn’t quite sure.

The problem was, Jonathan was packing for college himself. It was like some sort of sick paradox. Gethin was leaving college and Jonathan was going to college.

He checked his phone screen again, sighing when it was empty.  

He shoved another wad of clothes into his suitcase. He couldn’t bother to fold anything. He was just too lazy. He wasn’t even sure if he was excited to go home; it just seemed like another step that he was being forced to take when he wasn’t ready. Another step that didn’t really seem to be that much. Gethin felt like he was living outside himself, like he wasn’t actually present, just watching himself do everything.

It took a couple hours but finally he was finished, and he sat down in the living space of his dorm room. Lucas had already gathered his stuff and left. He lived close by and his family had helped him move out. Gethin didn’t have anyone. He was lugging all his stuff to the airport later today alone and would have to load everything alone and would be flying home alone.

He checked his phone and sent Jonathan a text, asking if he was busy. He had several, over-exited texts from Lane gushing over how happy she was that he was coming home. Gethin couldn’t find the energy in him to write an equally exited reply. He sent her smiley faces and hoped that was enough. He jumped when his phone started buzzing suddenly, with an incoming call. He sighed when he thought it was Lane but then jumped when he saw Jonathan’s name come up from his contacts. Quickly, he swiped to accept and clutched it next to his ear.

“Hello?” he said. He wasn’t sure why it came out a question. Maybe because he couldn’t quite believe Jonathan was calling him.

“Hey!” came Jonathan’s excited response. “Wanna get together for coffee?”

He didn’t even mention how long they had been apart or how the play had seemed to forced them away from each other. He didn’t mention how Gethin had been acting distant or if he had noticed when Gethin didn’t come to the last two shows. He sounded like he had picked up exactly where they had left off.

“Yeah, sure,” Gethin said, wiping his hand self-consciously on his jeans. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Or why he felt so awkward. He wasn’t supposed to feel awkward with Jonathan; he was supposed to feel like he was home. “Um, right now is a good time for me.”

“I’m actually at the Timeo’s now,” Jonathan said.

“Oh!” Gethin said, immediately jumping to his feet. He looked around for his shoes, wondering if they had been accidentally packed into one of his bags. Nope, there they were. “I can come over,” Gethin said.

“Sure,” Jonathan said. “Hey, should I order you anything? What do you want?”

Gethin smiled to himself as he recited his order. Finally, something was starting to feel right. Jonathan was back. The play was over. He could ignore the fact that he was leaving for a couple hours. Suspend his belief and forget what would happen when he went back to England. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when he went back to England.

“Great,” Jonathan said. “See you in ten?”

“Sooner,” Gethin promised, already shoving on his shoes and hurrying out the door.

And there Jonathan was, sitting at one of tables like he was meant to be there. He had two drinks, his hand wrapped around one. The theater showed on his face a little in the form of dark bags under his eyes and the wrinkles in his shirt. He looks exhausted and happy at the same time, and Gethin wondered how many coffees he’d had before he called.

“Jona!” he said cheerfully. Maybe a little too cheerfully because Jonathan’s returned smile was tired and he didn’t even manage to get out of his chair.

“Here,” he said instead, pushing Gethin’s drink over to him. “I hope you don’t need the caffeine because I took your expresso shots.”

“That’s fine,” Gethin said, taking a sip. It was mostly sugar. He was done with finals anyway and could sleep on the plane if need be. He looked to Jonathan, admittedly a little concerned. “You feeling alright?”

Jonathan smiled. “Just that after-production hangover,” he said. “Nothing unusual. The character is leaving my body and I just have to get back into the swing of things.”

“Oh,” Gethin said. He didn’t really understand. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I just wanted to say sorry about the last few days,” Jonathan said. “Production is always busy and I didn’t mean to shove you away. Every play is like this and I should’ve warned you or said something. You were probably wondering why I was being such an awful boyfriend.”

Oh.

Oh.

That word made a ball of sadness wedge in his throat. So _that’s_ what they were. At least that settled all the questions that were racing around Gethin’s brain. But then it created that many more, leaving him just as confused and floundering for something to say. He took a drink of his coffee, clutching the mug. What was he even supposed to say to that?!

“I’m going back to England today,” he blurted because nothing else was coming to mind.

Jonathan looked shocked. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open, like he was struggling for words just as much as Gethin. But that didn’t make sense. He was Jonathan. He always had words and something to say. He always had a cheeky remark or a reassuring comment. Gethin felt even worse and continued on in a stumble.

“School’s all over and I can’t really stay here. I’ve got a bookshop back home that I need to run. It’s been my dream ever since I was a little kid. I can’t abandon it. I just started making payments and the contract lasts two years and I—“

“I get it,” Jonathan said, cutting him off. “It’s important.”

“Yeah,” Gethin said quietly, staring down at his coffee, like its black swirly depths could offer him some sort of answers. It was too much to expect.

“Cours Florent is my own dream,” Jonathan said. “I can’t that just drop that. I told the rep that I was going next semester.”

“And I don’t _expect_ you drop that,” Gethin said quickly, looking up from his drink. “I just – I don’t know. I don’t want you to give up your own career. God! I would never ask that of you, Jona!”

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Jonathan said, meeting his gaze.

Gethin swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean – I just . . . I don’t know!”

“You can’t come with me,” Jonathan said. “And I can’t go with you.”

They sat in silence. Neither of them drank their coffee. They didn’t look at each other either, just stared down and didn’t speak. The traffic in the café continued on, the conversations from other tables filling the silence. There was the clatter of spoons on mugs and the whir and buzz of machines in the background as well. It took a while before either Gethin or Jonathan even attempted to fill their empty conversation. It was Jonathan who spoke. Gethin was holding back tears.

“Maybe we go separate ways,” he said. “Maybe this is how it ends.”

Gethin sniffed, letting go of his cup to quickly wipe at his eyes. “You say that like . . . . like we weren’t even good,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Good for each other or anything.”

“We were good,” Jonathan said quickly. “Are good for each other. But what are we supposed to do? I’m going to be here, at college, for four years, maybe longer. You’ll be back at England. How far is too far?”

“Nothing’s too far,” Gethin said, grinding the heels of his palms against his eyes. He looked at Jonathan, pretty sure he looked pathetic. “ _Nothing’s_ too far for love.”

Jonathan sighed and looked down at his coffee. “But when will it become too much?” he said. “There’s stress, and strains. Maybe we’ll be fine for the first couple weeks, but what happens when you meet another guy?”

“There _is_ no other guy,” Gethin said. “Jona, it will always be you!”

Jonathan looked heartbroken. “Geth, I was your first, your _gay_ first, and I get that you’ll probably never forget me and that these last couple months were a huge step for you. But there are guys besides me. Guys that are in England and don’t go to acting school in France.”

Fuck, Gethin was moments from falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “I wish it could be different, Geth, I really do. But sometimes things just don’t work out.”

Gethin threw back the rest of his coffee, burning his tongue and the back of his throat. That was his excuse for the one tear that escaped his control. He cleared his throat roughly and looked down at his wrist, dumbly aware that he wasn’t wearing a watch. “I have to go,” he muttered anyway. “I have to catch my plane. Good bye, Jonathan.”

That was all he could manage if he didn’t want to suddenly break down. He didn’t even trust himself not to look back. He rushed out of the coffee shop and blindly raced down the sidewalk, his tears blurring his vision. He knocked shoulders with someone, tried to remember the French word for sorry and couldn’t. That only made him cry harder.

  
~*~

 

The airport was a hub of bustling crowds and loud intercoms. There was no room for tears so Gethin pulled himself together long enough to get through his gates. He had to concentrate extra hard since all the signs were in French and that was a good enough distraction. No one gave him any funny looks; they were too busy getting where they needed to go to bother with him.

When he finally got seated on the plane and he finally was able to catch his breath, everything kind of sunk in. He cradled his phone in his lap, staring down at the screen. He knew his inbox was full of messages from Lane. And he knew that there were none from Jonathan. He nearly jumped when a little kid plopped down next to him and a woman sat down across the aisle. She gave him a pitying look.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get our seats together,” she said, arranging a diaper bag on the floor. “I can switch so he’s not annoying you the entire flight.”

Gethin wiped his cheek. “No, it’s fine,” he said.

The little boy was looking at him expectantly, a lopsided smile curling across one cheek.

“Bryson, please don’t annoy him,” the woman said, sounding just as exhausted as Gethin felt. “Here, promise to be good?” She dug around in her bag and pulled out a box of Meltis Fruits.

Bryson beamed at the prospect of a sweet treat and immediately forgot about Gethin, peeling the flaps open and carefully selecting one of the gummies. He ate them meticulously, licking all the sugar off his fingers after each one. He had only eaten around five when the pilot announced their take off and everyone had to buckle up.

It took about an hour before the flight attendants announced that it was okay to use electronic devices again. Gethin immediately dug out his phone and checked his messages. He knew it was stupid to hope but his eyes still burned when there was nothing from Jonathan.

“Want a Meltis Fruit?” Bryson asked, shoving the box in Gethin’s face.

Gethin glanced to the woman, saw that she was asleep, and gently pushed the box away. “No thank you,” he said.

“I like eating Fruits when I’m sad,” Bryson explained, digging out a cherry flavored one and popping it into his mouth.

“I’m not sad,” Gethin said.

Bryson looked to him, licking sugar off his fingers.

Gethin looked away.

“I’m going to sleep,” he said, rummaging into his seat pocket for the eye cover and slipping it on. He wasn’t tired at all, but this way he could feign sleep and Bryson would leave him alone. Gethin leaned his head back against the head rest and closed his eyes anyway. He didn’t want to think and he didn’t want to feel. And maybe that’s how he willed himself into falling asleep anyway.

The next thing he knew, the intercom was buzzing, jolting him away, and the attendants were explaining to people how they could exit the plane safely once it had come to a full stop. Gethin hadn’t even felt it touch down. He ripped off his eye cover and noticed Bryson was passed out just as hard as he had been with an empty Meltis Fruits box dangling from his limp fingers. Gethin smiled despite himself. Not annoying at all.

Exiting the plane was a hassle, since he had to grab all his bags himself, but he managed to get outside his gate without being trampled in the crowd. He was fumbling to get his phone out to call a taxi or something to pick him up when someone yelled his name.

“Gethin!”

He turned, scanning the crowd, and broke out into a huge smile when he saw him mum. And right behind her was his dad, hands shoved into his pockets and a rough smile on his face. He had a couple days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks and he looked tired from the mines, but he was _here_. Gethin felt his heart jump in his chest and he dropped his bags, running to his parents. It was his dad who grabbed him in a hug, holding him tighter than Gethin had ever been held before.

“Your mum sent you off to France!” he said. “Like I wouldn’t notice if you were gone.”

“Oh, nonsense,” his mum said, swatting her husband on the arm. “I told you, didn’t I?”

His dad tucked his chin on Gethin’s shoulder, so he could whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “You were two weeks gone when I came back from the mine that witch.”

Gethin laughed because he knew it was a joke. “I didn’t know you would be picking me up,” he said, squeezing his way out of the hug so he could give his mum a peck on the cheek. “This is a surprise.”

“You didn’t think we would leave you, did you?” his mum said. “Come, Geth, we are not heartless.”

Gethin shrugged as they made their way back to where he had abandoned his bags. “I’m just so used to taxis, I guess,” he said. “Took them everywhere in Paris.”

His dad clapped him on his back, grabbing his biggest bag with ease and slinging it over his shoulder. “You sound like a true city man,” he said. “I bet you have posh stories of taxis and expensive food, eh? Stories that could last many nights.”

Gethin grinned, helping with the other bags. Together, they walked out of the airport, his mum leading the way to the car. “All sorts of things,” he said. “About my classes and all the people I met.” They loaded the bags into the trunk. “And the food at the cafeteria.”

“I want to hear everything,” his dad said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Since I didn’t get any goodbyes, I’ll have to make up with my hellos.”

His mum drove, and Gethin talked. He told them about his classes. He told them about the food. He told them about the café and all the coffee he drank. He told them about the play and how he helped and became friends with the troup. He told them about Jonathan but not _about_ Jonathan. His dad laughed when he told them about the geese at the park and how he had gotten chased. Gethin laughed too and said he had never met a more vicious bird.

“I need to get back to the shop!” he said, the thought suddenly dawning on him as they pulled into the driveway of the house. “It probably needs a week of cleaning.”

“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” his mum said, turning the car off. “I want the night with my son, and I want to hear more about France. It sounded like you had fun! And you were so reluctant to leave in the first place.”

“She’s been cooking like a mad woman since yesterday,” his dad confirmed as they all climbed out. “Hasn’t let me touch anything. I’m starved!”

“Plus,” his mum said with a teasing wiggle of her eyebrows, helping Gethin unload his bags and carry them into the house. “I invited Lane.”

Gethin lost his grip on his backpack and it thudded against the floor of the kitchen. “Oh?” he said, trying to cover his slip up by dumping his other bags down too.

“Sweet girl,” his mum said, not noticing his bumble as she hurried about the kitchen, putting on the kettle and getting mugs. “She’s been going on and on this entire time.” She winked at Gethin. “Scared you were going to find some French doozy that you’d fall for.”

“Lay off the boy, Wyn,” his father said, dragging the largest suitcase through the door. “It’s his first night home, he doesn’t want to be bombarded by that crazy girl. He needs his rest.”

Gethin was thankful for that excuse. He was scrambling to think of his own.

“Well then go sit!” Wyn said. “I’ll get the plates of food. I bet you’re hungry after your flight. We can eat right away and talk even more.”

Gethin gratefully retreated to the living room, breathing in the smell of home. The cushions were all the same and the pictures still hung on the wall. Gethin paused at a family portrait of the three of them. It was professionally done and that meant they were all dressed up and smiling. He was around middle school when it had been taken and remembered the itchy tie that he had been forced to wear. Despite the discomfort, the picture looked good. They all looked happy. His dad was clean shaven and didn’t look exhausted. His mum was skinnier and her hair had less grey. Gethin listened as his parents moved about the kitchen, joking with each other over the clatter of dishes. _Home_.

The food was millions of times better than anything he had eaten at college. It was homemade and cooked to perfection, the time put into it clearly showing in the outcome. Gethin savored every bite. Because he only had a small breakfast and half a cup of coffee before getting on the plane. Maybe if he had stayed at the café, Jonathan would’ve bought them something to eat. Gethin didn’t want to think about it. As it turned out, they didn’t talk much while they ate. Gethin was too busy chewing and swallowing, so his dad convinced his mum to leave him alone for the time being and just let him settle. After seconds and a half, Gethin finally set his plate aside and helped clean up. Then they all settled back down in the living room with cups of tea.

“So tell me,” Wyn said, leaning eagerly forward in her seat. “Was Lane right to worry? France _must_ have had its share of lookers, am I right? You should have heard the way she went on, so worried that she wouldn’t have a chance with you before you came back.”

“God, woman,” Gethin’s dad said, taking a loud slurp of his drink. “Do you really have to carry this on?”

“I’m just curious, Harri,” Wyn admonished. “It’s not like I’m asking if he had sex with any of them. Just wondering if any of them caught his eye. That’s not so scandalous.”

Gethin tried to force himself to laugh along with his dad. He rubbed a finger over the condensation on the lip of his mug, a knot forming in his throat. He took a small drink but that didn’t really help. He tried again.

“Actually,” he said. “There was someone.”

Wyn nearly squealed with joy, slapping Harri’s arm. “I told you,” she said. “I told you, now didn’t I? No way could a boy be in France all those months and not come back with a couple escapades with the ladies. Who was she, Geth? A girl in your class? Did you meet here at the café?”

Gethin wanted to sink into the floor as both his mum and his dad looked at him expectantly. He took another drink of tea just to stall.

“Um, I did meet him at the café,” he said, staring down at his lap. He felt too, too small. “And he was very nice.”

There was a long, drawn out silence.

Nobody spoke.

Gethin hated the feeling. He wanted to fill the empty space but at the same time he wanted to disappear. He didn’t dare look up.

“His name is – was Jonathan,” he finally said.

“The _acting_ boy?!” Wyn snapped. “Does the theater make people _gay_ now?”

“Wyn,” Harri said, a warning tone entering his voice.

“Don’t ‘Wyn’ me!” Wyn said, her voice cracking as she got louder and louder. “Do you hear your son?! Are you not listening to this?!”

Harri’s voice was firm and low, gruff almost. “There’s no need to get upset—“

“No need?!” Wyn yelled. “No need?!” Her cup thudded against the carpet, splashing coffee across her shoes and staining the floor. “Are you not here? Do you not hear _your_ _son_?! He’s fucking gay, Harri, do you not hear this?!”

“I _do_ hear this!” Harri yelled back, rising to his feet. His voice thundered through the house. He slammed his cup down on the side table, shattering it. A couple drops of blood mixed with the spilled coffee. “But there’s no need to use that language, woman!” The words feel like hammers, slamming Gethin smaller and smaller.

“I didn’t raise him this way!” Wyn yelled, stomping a foot. “I didn’t raise him to be a perverted heathen who gets on his knees in the bathroom and takes –“

“Shut up!” The words boomed, silencing anything that Wyn had to say. Harri sounded like a thunderstorm that was moments from breaking. The kind that flashed with lightning and hovered in the distance as a looming threat. A threat that Wyn seemed to ignore, although her voice dropped down a notch or two, hissing out her words instead of shouting them.

“I am _disgusted_ ,” she spat out. This time, she directed all her rage and resentment to Gethin, seething, scalding, burning drops of hatred. “I am _appalled_. To ever think that a son of mine could be so _vulgar_. No, no, I will not accept it. No son of mine. No son of mine!”

“Mum, please,” Gethin pleaded, finally raising his head. The tears left over from the plane came rushing back full force and he couldn’t hold them back. They spilled down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. He felt them on his hands and didn’t bother to wipe them away. “Mum, _please_.”

“Stop it!” Wyn hissed at him, baring her teeth in a snarl. “I am no mother to you. You are no son of mine. I raised you _right_. I raised a _child of God_.”

“It’s not like that,” Gethin said. “Mum, it’s _love_ , it’s not evil.”

“It is _perverse_ ,” Wyn said. “It is _disgusting_. You are from the deepest, darkest depths of _Hell_.”

He was losing her. She was falling too far out of reach. Gethin sobbed, his own mug tumbling from his hands. “I’m _not_ ,” he insisted. “I love him!”

“Get out of my house!” Wyn yelled, jabbing a finger at the door. “Get out, you spawn of Satan!”

“Wyn!” Harri yelled. “That is no way to speak to him!”

Gethin didn’t wait for them to tear each other apart. He fled from the room trying to block out the words and slurs. Faggot, his mum shouted. Queer. Cock-sucker. Shut up, his dad shouted back. Insufferable woman, shut up. Gethin tripped over his bags in the kitchen and went down hard, barely even registering the fall. His chest hurt too much. He grabbed his backpack from the mess, kicked away his other suitcases. He ran out the door, already fumbling for his phone, wondering what taxi services could be called at such a late hour. He just needed to get away, away, _away_ from the house. He walked as he punched buttons on his phone, trying to read what he was typing through blurry eyes.

After sobbing to the operator for close to fifteen minutes, he finally ordered a taxi to come to his rough location. He kept walking, holding the phone to his ear even though the kind lady had hung up long ago. He didn’t care enough to return it to his pocket and the dial tone was a thin blanket of comfort.

The taxi arrived, driven by an older man who gave him a sad, understanding look. Gethin wanted to tell him he didn’t understand, he couldn’t, not with the gold wedding band glinting on his finger. He could never understand what Gethin was going through.

Gethin managed to choke out the address to What’s the Word, grateful that he at least had a place to run to. What would he do if there was nothing? He shuddered to think about it. The trip took over an hour, not that Gethin noticed the time pass. He was crying the entire ride. When he tried to pay the driver, his money was pushed away.

“You’re in a tough patch,” the driver said. “Help yourself. This is my last drive of the night anyway.”

Gethin thanked him, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and dragged his backpack out of the back seat. The key to the front doors was exactly where Gethin left it, underneath the doormat, under a strip of tape. He stumbled into the dusty gloom of his shop, not bothering to turn on the light. He had enough thought to lock the doors behind him before dumping his backpack off his shoulder and collapsing in the middle of the floor.

It was quiet. And dusty. Chilled and calm. His sobs echoed off the bookshelves and came back to him. He sounded pathetic. His chest still hurt. It felt like someone was squeezing his heart. How many losses did he have to go through? First Jonathan, then his mum, his _family_. Everything seemed to be ripped from his grasp without anything that he could do on his part. 

He wanted to fight to keep a hold of everything. He wanted to clutch and grasp. He didn’t want to lose Jonathan. He didn’t want lose his mum or his dad. And yet.

And yet here he was.

Grasping at nothing.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be in love. He didn’t want to love Jonathan. He didn’t want to be gay. He wished he could pick up his phone and call Lane and tell her he loved her and that they could get married. But that thought turned his stomach. He just couldn’t do it.

He slumped on the floor, too tired to climb up the stairs and get into his bed. He fell asleep there, absentmindedly thinking about how he would have to mop up the tears and snot sometime tomorrow. Thinking about his first gay. Thinking about everything.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: internalized homophobia

Gethin woke with someone shaking his shoulder and the kettle whistling from upstairs. He groaned, becoming aware that he was laying on a surface that was both very hard and very uncomfortable. Already, he could feel his muscles cramping with soreness.

“Geth, you need to get up,” a gruff voice said. “Come on, I’ve got eggs cooking and tea brewing. You need a bath.”

Gethin groaned again and cracked open his eyes, wincing at the sunlight that streamed through the glass display windows and spilled across the floor. Floor? It occurred to him that he was sleeping on the floor of What’s the Word and he briefly wondered why, until everything from yesterday came rushing back.

He bolted upright, immediately spotting his dad crouched next to him, the stubble on his cheeks a little longer and the bags under his eyes a little darker. He didn’t look angry exactly. Gethin was just nervous.

“Dad,” he said with a gasp, not really sure what he was supposed to say. “What are you – what are you doing here?! You’re not – mum said –“

“Your mum said a lot of things,” Harri said with a sigh, looking down at his boots. “And I regret very much that she meant every single one.” 

Gethin heart broke all over again, but he was too exhausted to cry. He slumped back on the floor, dropped his head into his hands. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to talk about it. He felt all wrung out and too tired for everything. He flinched when Harri grabbed him under his arms and hauled him upright.

“Come on,” he said. “Can’t stay here. Everyone can see you through the windows.”

Gethin grunted, but Harri didn’t let him go. Instead, he hooked an arm under Gethin’s thighs and hoisted him up, carrying him like a little kid with his face pressed into his shoulder. Gethin wrapped his arms around his neck, mostly to keep his balance as Harri started walking. He didn’t care enough to ask where they were going.

“Can’t remember the last time I carried you,” Harri said as he walked. “Can’t remember ever helping you a lot and I think that’s my fault mostly. Away at the mines and all. I don’t know everything you’re going through, but you got your heart broken, and I can help you work through that.”

He plopped Gethin down on the toilet, immediately grabbing his shirt and tugging it off. The tub was already filled with steaming, lavender scented water with soaps and washcloths close by for easy access. Gethin studied it all disinterestedly.

“You gonna make me do this all myself?” Harri asked, shaking the fabric in Gethin’s face. “Don’t think I won’t. The mines are filled with men and those men ain’t ashamed of what’s in their pants, let me tell you.”

Gethin turned his head away and closed his eyes.

“Right then,” Harri said, undoing the buttons of Gethin’s pants with deft fingers.

Gethin didn’t even care anymore. He let his dad strip him down and hoist him into the tub. The water did feel nice, that he would admit. It felt nice to soak and just smell the lavender and feel the soap. Harri twisted a towel and wrapped it around his neck, propping his head off to the side so Gethin didn’t even have to put any effort to holding it up.

“Stay here,” Harri said, patting his shoulder. “I’ll get you something that’ll fix you right up. Wash your face maybe.” He tucked a wash cloth into Gethin’s hand, gave him one last pat on the head, and then left the bathroom, keeping the door propped open.

Gethin sighed and dunked the cloth into the wash, swirling it around and then squeezing it out. He buried his face in the fabric, scrubbing hard. It did feel good to get the gunk and tears off his cheeks. He wiped his nose and cleaned his eyes then dropped the cloth outside the tub. He looked down at the water and down at his body. His mind went back to when Jonathan saw the same body and how he had kissed and worshiped it. How Gethin had crumpled open under his touch and actions. How _evil_ and _wrong_ that was.

He shuddered, causing ripples in the water, and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. He squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see. He didn’t want his body to be the one that had loved Jonathan. He didn’t want his body to have experienced that.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there but eventually the Harri returned. He raised his eyebrows at Gethin’s curled figure but didn’t remark. He only set an empty cup down and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. He dumped water over Gethin’s hair, doing his awkward best to not let it drip onto his face. Then he lathered up his hands and scrubbed Gethin clean while his chin rested on his knees and his eyes stayed closed. He didn’t say anything as Harri rinsed the suds out and repeated the whole thing again.

“Alright,” he said, after the second round of bubbles was gone. “That’s enough for you.” He hoisted Gethin out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel. He still ending up dripping all over the floor.

It took some maneuvering, since Gethin didn’t do anything to help him, but Harri did get him into a clean t-shirt and sweatpants both of which were too big and smelled like home. They must be Harri’s.

“The next thing you need,” he said, walking Gethin out to the living room. “After a good clean, is food.” He patted Gethin’s stomach as he sat him down on the couch. “Cold?” he asked, rearranging the pillows so Gethin couldn’t tip over. Gethin shrugged. Harri bundled him in blankets anyway. Then he walked out to the kitchen.

Gethin studied his living room. It was nothing like home. God, he had to stop thinking of it as that. Home was no longer home. Not to him anymore. He needed pictures on the walls. _Something_ on the walls; they looked so bare. Maybe even empty frames. Yeah, that would look better than nothing. Did he have frames somewhere? Maybe somewhere in storage. Gethin started to feebly untangle himself from the blankets, intent on going to his storage room and digging through whatever was there until he found something to hang up.  

“Ah, where do you think you’re going?” Harri said, walking back into the room with two plates balanced on one arm and two mugs of tea in the other. Quickly, he set everything down and pushed Gethin back on the couch. “You don’t need to go anywhere at the moment.” He shoved a fork into Gethin’s hand instead and then sat a plate of eggs in his lap. There were two, thick slices of toast topped with butter and cheese as well, melty and crispy and salty.

Gethin wasn’t sure if he wanted to eat but had no choice as Harri sat down next to him with his own plate and fork and dug in. He forgot about the picture frames after the first couple bites. He didn’t really like the eggs but he devoured the toast in quick bites. Harri passed over his slices as well, scraping the eggs onto his own plate. After the toast was gone, Harri handed him the mug of tea.

“Drink,” he said. “You need the liquids. You can have water later. This for now.” He took a long, loud slurp of his own tea. “Then we’ll get you down in the shop and by your books. Nothing like work to get your mind off what’s wrong.”

Gethin wasn’t convinced.

“We’ll do cleaning,” Harri decided. “You’ve got a broom around here, yeah? Give the floor downstairs a nice scrub and air everything out. Maybe open the doors if you feel up to it.” He took another drink. “Shopping for sure, at least for the essentials. I noticed your cupboards were bare, and we can’t have that.”

Gethin didn’t want to leave the house.

Harri tapped his mug with a stern look. “Drink that,” he said. “Come on, before it gets cold.”

Gethin dutifully took a drink. Followed it with another. It was gone before he realized. Harri took all the dishes back to the kitchen and this time let Gethin get up and follow him, leaving the blankets and pillows in a heap on the couch. Together, they walked downstairs to the shop.

Gethin wasn’t sure what time it was but the sun was still very much bright and the sky didn’t show a hint of clouds. The sign on the door was flipped to “closed” and all the displays were half put together, how he had left them when leaving for France. True to his dad’s words, the place did need a good cleaning. Gethin stood by the counter, staring at everything while Harri found the broom closet and got everything together. He shoved a broom into Gethin’s hands and nudged him forward, gesturing to the rows of shelves.

Gethin focused on getting every single crack. He tried sweeping up the spots in the wood grain, stayed on one for long enough for Harri to come to his side and nudge him along. When that was all done, Harri handed him a bucket of soapy water and a handful of rags.

“Scrub,” he said, motioning to the floor.

Gethin scrubbed.

He threw himself into the task, the burn of his unused muscles making him forget about everything. Instead, he focused on the corners and the cracks. It was satisfying to look back over his shoulder at the parts he had already done, gleaming and clean. After he finished that, Harri sent him in the direction of the bookshelves to organize the volumes. It took hours, and they were hours where Gethin was able to forget. When every rug had been shaken out and the floor scrubbed and the displays finished. Harri helped Gethin into socks, shoes, and a jacket.

“Shopping,” he explained, even though Gethin didn’t ask. He flapped a piece of paper in his face. “Got a list of what this house needs. Healthy food. Some instant stuff. Cans for your pantry.”

Gethin nodded and hesitantly accepted the list from his dad. They walked out of What’s the Word. Harri remembered to lock the door behind them. The store was just a couple blocks away, and the fresh air was nice instead of the stuffy indoors. Gethin still kept his eyes on his shoes as they walked along. Harri didn’t try to talk, didn’t comment on the weather or traffic. They walked in silence.

As they shopped, Harri explained each item they put in the cart, making Gethin choose the soups and crackers. Harri picked out the fruit and produce so they would get ripe stuff. Gethin would’ve chosen them without thought. They picked up sugar and milk and butter, a whole new loaf of white bread and a thick block of cheese. Harri loaded two pints of ice cream into the cart and made them stop in the candy aisle to pick up something sweet.

They walked back home in silence, this time carrying the bags. It felt good to get something done, Gethin decided. It was actually nice when they had to spend nearly half an hour putting everything in its place in the kitchen. Harri kept out the chocolate bars they had bought as well as one of the containers of ice cream. As Gethin carefully stacked the soup cans in the pantry, Harri got two spoons out. Then, he walked Gethin back to the living room and sat him down again, this time ripping the lid off the ice cream and shoving it into his lap, along with a spoon. He ripped open the chocolate bar and cracked it in half for the both of them.

“Now,” he said, as Gethin took a bite of the swirl of chocolate and vanilla. “You’ve had the whole day. Let’s talk.”

Gethin sucked on the cold spoon, liking the way it felt against his tongue. “’Bout what?” he mumbled.

“Well,” his dad said, setting a square of chocolate on his tongue. “Tell me about . . . . Jonathan.”

Gethin felt a wedge form in his throat. “Don’t wanna,” he said, taking a bit of ice cream and letting it melt in his mouth.

“Can’t wallow forever,” Harri said. “Don’t start now. Your mother’s not here, and I want to hear about him. He acted, right?” He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Eye color? Hair color? Surly? Did he buy you flowers?”

Gethin snorted. Ate more ice cream. Tried to ignore his dad’s stare. “Blonde,” he finally relented. “He was . . . . blonde. Brown eyes. He never got me flowers.”

“Did you . . . .” Harri cleared his throat.

“Kiss?” Gethin offered, a bitter tone entering his voice. He cuddled the ice cream closer and took a bite. “Fuck? Does it matter?”

“You love him,” Harri said, his tone soft. “It doesn’t matter what you do.”

“Yes,” Gethin said, slumping his shoulders in defeat. “Yeah, we kissed. We got coffee together. I went to his plays. I helped him memorize his damn lines.”

“I want to understand,” Harri said, setting another square of chocolate in his mouth and moving it to his cheek. “I don’t hate you for it. I just want to understand.”

“It’s _love_ ,” Gethin said. “What else is there to understand? It would be the exact same if I met a girl. I don’t – I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. You wouldn’t care if I met a girl!”

“I don’t care,” Harri said. “I’m trying not to. This isn’t what I grew up with, Geth, you have to understand this is strange for me as well.”

Gethin took a bite of ice cream, sad that it was already getting melty. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just – we broke up. Right before I left. We’re not together anymore. Don’t worry.”

“I do worry,” Harri said. “He hurt you. No one should be allowed to hurt you.”

“I hurt myself,” Gethin said, resting the cold spoon on his chin. “I hurt mum.”

“You didn’t hurt that old witch,” Harri said spitefully. “She didn’t have any feelings to hurt in the first place.”

“Please don’t,” Gethin whispered, staring down at his ice cream.

“What?” Harri said.

“Make her evil,” Gethin said. “Demonize her. She just . . . . . she doesn’t understand. She’s the same as you.”

“But she doesn’t want to learn,” Harri said. “Doesn’t want to listen and hear you out.”

Gethin sniffed. “That’s not her fault. No one wants to change completely. This is all just . . . scary and new for her. I mean, I hardly understand myself. I don’t expect . . . . everything is so crazy. I don’t even know myself . . . .” He wanted Jonathan here. He didn’t have to explain himself to Jonathan. He could just be gay with Jonathan without having to analyze the why, the when, and the where.

“When did you realize?” Harri asked. Quietly and softly.

Gethin frowned, carving a frowning face into his ice cream and then licking off the stuff that stuck to spoon. “Just then,” he muttered. “While I was in France, I mean. I never realized I had a choice.”

Harri rested a hand on his knee, giving it a squeeze. “You always have a choice,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

Gethin shrugged. “I do now,” he said. “A shit choice. A choice that fucked me over.”

“You obviously didn’t think that in France,” Harri said. “It was a reasonable choice then.”

“He was my first,” Gethin said, his voice trembling. His tears dripped off his chin and into his ice cream. He was thinking of his last conversation with Jonathan now. “My – my gay first. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. It’s all – jumbled. I just don’t know!” He curled around his ice cream and sobbed.

Harri sucked in a deep breath. “Let it out, son,” he said. “Come here.” He gently eased the ice cream away and scooped Gethin up, blankets and all, tucking him close to his chest. “Let it out,” he coaxed. “Tonight, you can actually sleep on your bed instead of on the floor. Things will be better tomorrow.”

Gethin cried. He cried because of Jonathan. And because he was gay. And because he didn’t know what was going on inside his heart.

He cried because the promise of a better tomorrow wasn’t a promise at all. Tomorrow was uncertain. For all Gethin knew, tomorrow would be just as bad as today. And there was nothing he could do about it.


	17. Chapter 17

The shop was slowly beginning to take shape as Gethin continued to work on it. Harri woke him up every day with breakfast and cups of tea. Never coffee, although Gethin never asked for it, only noticed that it wasn’t there. After the third day of straightening the shelves and unboxing new books and setting up the last of the displays, Harri even made him open the front doors and set up the “We are Open” sign. No one had come in yet.

Gethin slumped behind the counter, waiting for what would be his first sale. Harri had left him a stack of books to work through, random stuff he had plucked off the shelves. Stuff about the world and fantasy adventures, a biography about a singer Gethin had never heard of and a volume about making cheese. He had skimmed the first couple pages of the fantasy book but that was it. He couldn’t concentrate long enough.

Harri had made him an industrial thermos of tea and wrapped several sandwiches up in the fridge for lunch before saying he needed to get other stuff done and walked out the door.

Gethin now sat by himself, wondering how his dad would react if he closed up shop and went to bed. He nearly jumped out of his seat when the bell above the door jingled and people walked in. It was Bee from the bakery down the street with his daughter Joni in tow. She looked absolutely ecstatic and was bouncing on her toes.

“Geth!” she exclaimed, immediately tugging her hand out of her dad’s and running up to the counter. “You’ll never believe what happened! Dad said you went away on an important trip so when I told my class about your store, we couldn’t come on a field trip and my teacher was really mean and said I didn’t know how to read grown up books anyway so Dad got me a dictionary so I could learn and I did learn and now I want to buy a grown up book from you!”

She said it all in one big gush and at the end, dug a handful of wrinkled bills out of her pocket and slapped down on the counter. She looked proudly up at him with a beaming smile. Bee chuckled, walking up behind her.

“She’s been saving up every allowance,” he said.

“Help me pick one out!” Joni said, looking excitedly around the shop. “And then I’m gonna show it to my teacher and then she can’t say that I can’t read because I’ll show her your book and then maybe me and my friends can come here together!”

Before Gethin could say anything, she was bouncing off through his shelves with a smile splitting her cheeks. Bee laughed at her enthusiasm and leaned on the counter, gathering up the bills she had left and straightening them out.

“We’ve missed you, Geth,” he said. “Everyone on the street. Didn’t get an address or anything so we couldn’t send you stuff. But we put together an envelope –“

Gethin started shaking his head, already starting to refuse. He couldn’t take something like that. He was already getting ready to refuse as Bee slid a stuffed envelope onto the counter. “I can’t – Bee, you know I don’t want handouts. I can’t accept something like that,” he said. He tried to shove the envelope back, but Bee wouldn’t let him.

“We want to show we care,” Bee insisted. “Come on, Gethin, what am I to do? Return this all where it came from?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Gethin said, still pushing the envelope away. “Bee, that’s a _lot_ of money. I can’t just take that from everyone.”

Bee gave him a smile, not really condescending, more a smile that you would give a child who didn’t want to try a piece of candy just because they didn’t know what it was. “Let us donate it then,” he said. “Let us give it to some way. You gotta let yourself be loved sometimes.”

Gethin didn’t have a response to that, and in his momentary lapse of judgement, Bee shoved the envelope completely over to his side, tucking it into his hands and patting it. As if that was that. Gethin opened his mouth to give more excuses but he was interrupted by Joni, slamming a book down on the counter.

“This one has dragons on the front!” she said excitedly, patting the cover. Indeed, a green, almost puppy-like dragon was curled on the cover. In fanciful swirling gold script, the title curved over its head: _The Mordiford Wyvern: the Tale of a Girl and her Dragon_. “I want this one!” Joni said and tugged on her dad’s sleeve. “Give him the money! Give him the money! I want the dragon book!”

Bee laughed and slid Gethin the crumpled bills that used to be in Joni’s pocket. Gethin didn’t want to continue arguing in front of Joni so he took her money with a smile and made quick change.

“For candy,” he said, pressing an extra coin into her hand. He gave Bee a look as if daring him to protest.

Joni beamed in delight, pocketed the money she got back. “Can we go to the sweetshop?” she asked. “I want to get something sweet!”

“We have iced buns back home,” Bee said, looking exasperated at her request. “Isn’t that sweet enough?”

“I want butterscotch!” Joni said, jumping up and down with her new book clasped tight in her hands. “Butterscotch and sour cherry gummies!”

Bee sighed, but he was still smiling. “Alright, alright,” he said. “As long as you don’t tell your mother. Fair?”

Gethin smiled at the two of them, leaning on the counter.

“I like secrets,” Joni said with a solemn nod, her tone immediately going serious.

“Then we’d better get going,” Bee said. “Don’t want you mum to get suspicious do we? Say thank you to Gethin, right?”

“Thanks for the book, Geth!” Joni chirped, hugging the volume tight against her chest. “I’m gonna read it and then show my teacher and she won’t be able to say that I can’t read grown-up books and then all my friends can come here too and get books!”

Gethin smiled. “You do that,” he said. “I’d love to meet everyone.”

“Bye!!” Joni said, waving as they walked out of the door.

Gethin gave her a smile and a wave. The bell above the door jingled as it fell closed and the shop was left empty again. Gethin’s smile slowly dropped and his gaze fell to the envelope of money still left in his hands. Slowly, he undid the flap and peeked inside.

The bills were mostly wrinkled, crumpled on their corners and some of them torn. It was obvious they had been saved for a while now. They were all pressed flat, though some bore crease marks where they had been folded before. Gethin couldn’t begin to imagine just how much Bee had just gifted him, no, the entire community had just gifted him. How was he even supposed to begin to thank them? What could he do to repay them?

The answer was, he couldn’t.

He opened the register and slipped the envelope under the coin tray, promising himself he would get around to counting it eventually. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after that. He wasn’t sure. Part of him didn’t want that reality to set in.

A couple other people wandered into the shop. Some clearly tourists who touched every book but didn’t buy anything and others were people he knew who wanted to see how he was doing. Gethin smiled for them all and accepted their good wishes. He held in his sighs of annoyance at the tourists, watching as they left fingerprints everywhere. After they left, he grabbed a dusting cloth from under the counter and got to work removing them from the shelves. He was in one of the back rows when he heard the doors jingle, signaling another customer.

Gethin gave the shelf one last wipe and headed back toward the counter, wondering who it was this time: tourist or neighbor.

It was neither.

Gethin had to grab the counter for support.

It was Jonathan. All washed up and wrung out. A cigarette dangled from his lips and the pack from his hands. He looked _tired_. Heavy bags hung under his eyes and his shirt was wrinkled. He looked like he had lost weight, if that were possible in the few short days they had been apart. And his eyes looked sad as he finally met Gethin’s gaze. He shifted from foot to foot and finally slipped the cigarette box back in his pocket. Then, he seemed to realize he had one in his mouth and stuffed that into his pocket too.

“Um, hey,” he said. “Sorry about the smokes. I shouldn’t – all the books, I mean. I wasn’t really thinking.”

A knot was tying itself in Gethin’s throat. And in his stomach. Everywhere. He felt like he was being crushed. He was still clinging to the counter, scared that if he let go, he was collapse.

“What are you doing here?” he said. “What are you doing . . . . _here_?”

Jonathan flinched. Like, literally flinched. His shoulders ticked up and his hands curled into loose fists, drawing up to his chest. He stepped back, towards the door, like he wanted to leave. He didn’t. He looked towards the door too, but he stayed.

“I came,” he said slowly. “Here . . . because of you.”

Gethin wanted to sob. He wanted to scream and cry and throw things. He wanted to kiss Jonathan and hug him and take him to bed and waste the night away in his arms. Instead, Gethin stood there, unable to do any of that. It was like he was frozen. Like he was dead. He felt dead. He settled on dead.

“I . . . I don’t know,” he said. Because he didn’t. “You are – Jonathan –“ His name felt awkward in Gethin’s mouth, like he had never said it before. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know what I’m supposed to _feel_.”

Jonathan shuffled his feet, looking down at his laces. “You don’t feel anything?” he asked.

Before Gethin could scrounge for an answer to that particularly impossible question, the bells on the door jingled, drawing both of their attentions. Gethin expected another customer. It wasn’t. It was his dad.

Harri froze right inside the door, a couple plastic bags hanging off his arms. His eyes darted between Gethin and Jonathan, confusion furrowing his eyebrows and his mouth slid down into a frown. He took a couple steps around Jonathan, stopping halfway between the two of them, as if he could act like a blockade.

“A customer?” he muttered to Gethin, obviously noticing that Jonathan was something more.

“Jonathan,” Jonathan said, sticking out a hand. Ever polite and always with ease. It made Gethin’s heart clench just watching them shake hands. “I know Gethin from—“

“France,” Harri finished, his eyebrows drawing together and his eyes darkening.

“I’m gonna go get something . . . . . from . . . . . upstairs,” Gethin blurted and all but ran from behind the front desk, retreating quickly up the stairs.

He paused in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, trying to steady his breathing. What was Jonathan doing here? _What_ was _Jonathan_ doing _here_?! He was down in the shop, with Gethin’s dad, in _England_. He wasn’t supposed to be in England. He was supposed to be at acting college. In France. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here. And Gethin couldn’t decide if he was happy or sad. Couldn’t decide if this was good or bad.

“You okay?”

Gethin jumped at the voice, spinning to face his dad. Harri stood outside the kitchen, still giving him space. Gethin shook his head, then thought better of it, and nodded. Harri gave him a half smile.

“I left him in the shop,” he said. “If you want to, erm, go back down there.”

“I don’t know,” Gethin said honestly. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“He said he dropped out of college, said you would understand what that meant for him,” Harri went on and cleared his throat roughly. “I don’t know how it is between you. . . . . between you men, but I say give him a chance. Invite him up for tea. I’ll sit with you if he want.” He paused, lingering in the doorway. “I’ve never had a girl travel across the continent for me,” he said. “Geth, he looked heartbroken.”

“I know,” Gethin said. “I just . . . . I didn’t expect him.”

Harri stepped into the kitchen, moving behind Gethin to fiddle with the stove. He set on a kettle of water and grabbed twin mugs from the cupboard. “Look here,” he said, pulling down a package of biscuits. “Invite him up for five minutes. Have a cup of tea. Eat a biscuit. Give him a chance to explain himself.”

Gethin swallowed. “You’ll stay?” he said. “You won’t—“ Leave? Judge him? Hate him for being gay? _Kick_ _him out_ for being gay?

“I won’t,” Harri said, answering the unspoken question. “As long as you don’t let that man cry his eyes out in your store while you have the chance of stopping a scene like that.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Gethin admitted, letting himself get nudged out of the kitchen.

“You don’t have to,” Harri said, giving him a stern look. “That’s what tea is for. And talking.” The plastic of the biscuit package crinkled as he picked it up. “And biscuits. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Gethin said, still feeling uncertain about actually walking back down the stairs to face Jonathan. He hovered around the kitchen door until Harri gave him a look that made him wince and retreat to the top of the stairs. He paused, still scared of what would happen. He took a deep breath and finally headed down the steps.

When he reached the store, the room was empty.

Gethin had to double check between the shelves just to make sure that there was no one there, and for a quick moment, his stomach jumped to his throat as he feared Jonathan had left without saying goodbye. It was a brief moment of panic that made his knees weak before he noticed the bobbing head of blonde curls pacing the sidewalk in front of the store. Gethin’s heart jumped. He burst out of the door before he had a chance to think and was suddenly face-to-face with Jonathan once again.

His eyes were red and watery. A half gone cigarette was propped in the corner of his mouth, the cherry end flaring every couple seconds. The pack was open in Jonathan’s hand and he was already fishing out another one. He froze when his eyes landed on Gethin though.

They were silent. Just staring at each other. Smoke curling out from Jonathan’s mouth as he pulled on the cigarette again and again in fast repetition. Finally, Gethin couldn’t stand it anymore and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he said stupidly. It was the only thing that came to mind.

Jonathan shrugged, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a not-smile. “Calms me down,” he muttered. “Didn’t want to do it near the books.”

“It’s not healthy,” Gethin said. He didn’t know why he was pursuing the argument. It was dumb and pointless. But it was better than talking about what needed to be talked about.

Jonathan just shrugged again, taking the butt out of his mouth and dropping it to the ground, grinding it into the concrete with his shoe. He was about to light another one to replace it.

“I have tea upstairs,” Gethin blurted. “And food—biscuits. You can come inside. We can . . . talk.”

“Do you want that?” Jonathan said, holding his lighter inches from the next cigarette, not really believing Gethin’s offer.

Gethin nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You came all this way—you can’t just . . . . I don’t know. You can’t just leave. I . . . . I didn’t mean what I said before. I was just surprised. I thought you were gone. Forever. Please, Jonathan—“ His name still felt awkward. “It’s just tea.”

Jonathan’s shoulders slumped as the tension left him, and he sighed. “Alright,” he said. He tucked the cigarette back into the pack and then shoved that into his pocket followed by the lighter. “Alright. Tea. Sure.”

Gethin nodded and hesitantly led the way back into the shop. He paused long enough to flip the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and lock the door with the key from behind the counter. He could feel Jonathan watching him as he moved about until he finally gestured that they could go upstairs.

Three mugs of tea were already brewing on the coffee table in the living room next to a plate of biscuits. Harri was still in the kitchen, humming tunelessly to himself until he noticed Gethin and Jonathan. He raised his eyebrows and jerked his chin towards the sofa.

“Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Your dad seems nice,” Jonathan said as they both sat down on opposite sides of the coffee table.

“He is,” Gethin said, choosing a mug and clutching it tightly. “He’s been helping . . . . . . me.”

“Helping?” Jonathan repeated, eyebrows coming together in confusion.

Gethin swallowed, staring down at his tea. “When I told my parents,” he said softly. “Um, about you. When I told them . . . . my mum wasn’t . . . . .she wasn’t enthusiastic, I guess.”

“Shit,” Jonathan said. His eyes jumped to Gethin’s face in a moment. “Fuck. No. Geth—no, tell me they didn’t. Fuck, I should have said something to you. I should have warned you. Fuck me, I didn’t—“ He took a breath, rising halfway out of his seat and then seeming to think better of it and sitting back down. “How bad is it?” he asked softly.

Gethin shrugged, focusing more on his tea than anything else. “How bad can it get?” he said. “It was my mum who . . . . she really didn’t like it. And my dad, well, you know.”

Jonathan slumped back in his seat, letting out a gusty breath as he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. “Yeah, mine were the same way,” he said. His hand seemed to go instinctively to his pocket before he seemed to remember where he was. “Sometimes they come around. I know a girl whose parents took two years before they finally decided to talk to her girlfriend.”

“I don’t think she will,” Gethin said. He didn’t want to cry in front of Jonathan but suddenly his throat was twisted and his eyes were burning. He quickly brought a fist up, trying to force them back as if rubbing would help. “She’s . . . . stubborn.”

“Geth,” Jonathan said quietly. “You know . . . . you know she doesn’t hate you? She doesn’t. You’re her son; she couldn’t possibly hate you. Maybe right now, she just doesn’t feel the best. But she doesn’t hate you. I’m sure. Give her time.”

And that’s what sent Gethin over the edge. He was tired of crying over every little thing but that didn’t stop the tears from overflowing from his eyes. He was too tired to sob but that didn’t really make a difference. He had to set down his mug, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes as if that would help.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He heard the rustle of movement before he felt hands gently grab him and tug him up. Before he could protest, he was tucked close to Jonathan’s chest, right under his chin, surrounding by his arms and his coat. Jonathan smelled like smoke. Stank of it. He also smelled of strong coffee and soap. His chest rumbled from the beginnings of a bad habit and his voice was rough, both with emotion and cigarette smoke.

“Geth, I never wanted to see you like this,” he mumbled. “No, Geth, I never wanted to see you hurt. I am so sorry. This is my fault. I didn’t mean—“

Gethin kissed him. Pulled him down by his lapels and planted a teary, salty kiss right on his lips. Jonathan tasted exactly as he smelled. Gethin let out a sigh and relaxed without thinking.

Not wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt _right_. The world shifted just enough so that it made sense again. Gethin cried with relief and kissed Jonathan harder.

“Told you tea works,” Harri commented from the doorway of the kitchen.

Gethin immediately pulled back, blushing deeply when he realized his dad had seen them.

“Excuse me,” Jonathan said, moving to step away from Gethin.

Harri waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I’m going down to the shop.” He was gone a moment after, clomping down the stairs loudly as if to confirm his departure.

Gethin practically melted into Jonathan’s arms in relief.

“Come here,” Jonathan said with a playful grin, tugging Gethin to the sofa, pulling him onto his lap as they sunk down.

Gethin was still blushing hard, unable to believe Jonathan was here and he was here and he was sitting on Jonathan’s lap and his dad was downstairs. He felt like he was in high school again, like he had a secret he had to keep. Except it wasn’t a secret. His family already knew. He couldn’t help but laugh through his tears as Jonathan kissed his throat up to his chin and then back down to his collar bone.

“I wanted to ask,” Jonathan said between gentle pecks. “This place is What’s the Word, right? So, what is it? What is the word?”

Gethin laughed, all snotty and teary and probably disgusting but Jonathan was kissing him anyway. “Gay,” he said, pulling himself together enough to kiss Jonathan back, lightly, right on the lips. “Gay’s the word. And I think I’m okay with it.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

Jonathan slept on the couch that night and Gethin slept in his normal room. Or, at least, he tried to. He tossed and turned back and forth for around an hour before gathering up his blankets and pillows and tiptoeing his way out of into the dark living room. He paused at the entryway, staring blindly into the inky blankness. He nervously chewed his bottom lip.

“Jona?” he whispered into the dark. “You still up?”

Jonathan mumbled something sleepily. Gethin could hear the rustle of fabric as he rolled over on the couch. Gethin bit his lip, wondering how much of a bother he was being. He did his best to shrug off the feeling and tried again.

“Jona?”

“Gethin?” Jonathan’s voice was a sleepy grumble with a hint of confusion, like he didn’t understand what was going on.    

“Yeah,” Gethin said. He squeezed his pillow a little tighter. His eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark and he still couldn’t see anything. He picked a spot where he thought the couch was. “Is there room?”

There was more rustling as Jonathan moved around, and for a prolonged moment, Gethin wasn’t even sure if he would get an answer. But then Jonathan snorted and settled again.

“Yeah, there’s room.” There was a smile in his voice that Gethin didn’t have to see to know it was there. “You won’t trip in the dark?”

“I’ll be fine,” Gethin said, tiptoeing his way across the living room. He felt his way passed the coffee table and finally rested a hand on the hard bone of Jonathan’s hip. It was warm, hot almost, through the blankets. Jonathan shifted under his touch.

“Come on,” he urged, pulling the blankets aside to invite Gethin to lay down.

It was a little awkward moving around in the dark. Gethin had to feel his way mostly, his hand groping from Jonathan’s hip to his elbow to his shoulder. He somehow found room on the couch, squeezing his way down next to Jonathan. The space was warm, and Gethin closed his eyes as he settled down. It was a little awkward, and they had to be careful of elbows and knees. At one point, Gethin ended up completely on top of Jonathan, leaning heavily on his chest before rolling back onto the cushions. Finally, they slotted themselves together in a way that didn’t crush the other, half on their sides, legs tangled a little uncomfortably, faces so close Gethin could feel Jonathan’s breath on his cheek.

“You okay?” Jonathan asked, his voice a rough whisper.

“Yeah,” Gethin said. At least, he was now that he was laying here.

“You didn’t look it,” Jonathan said. “Earlier today. When I first saw you.”

“Then I wasn’t,” Gethin admitted. “I had lost you. I—I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.”

“I’m sorry I left,” Jonathan said.

Gethin shook his head. Then realized that Jonathan couldn’t see. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I mean, yeah, it hurt but you had your reasons.”

Jonathan’s arms enveloped him. Awkwardly. There was only so much room on the couch and Jonathan had to maneuver carefully just to drape one arm across Gethin’s shoulders to pull him close.

“I’m here now,” he said. “We’re here together. I don’t ever want to leave.”

Gethin sighed happily, settling even closer to Jonathan. “I don’t ever want _you_ to leave,” he said but then pushed himself away, only a couple inches, so that he couple look up at Jonathan in the dark. “But what about France? I mean, acting college? Wasn’t that your dream?”

Jonathan chuckled, the vibrations in his chest thrumming over to Gethin. “Stop asking questions,” he said. “Stop trying to think of excuses why you shouldn’t be happy. I made a decision. I made an _adult_ decision and I know what I’m doing. What’s important is that I’m here now.”

Gethin let himself smile. He let himself relax. He let himself press a gently kiss on Jonathan’s jaw, feeling the scratch of a three day old beard on his chin and lips. He didn’t mind.

“Go to sleep,” Jonathan said, pressing his own kiss onto Gethin’s forehead. “Get your rest. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Gethin let himself sleep.

And he woke up the next day still in Jonathan’s arms. He could hear his dad in the kitchen, the soft clatter of cooking pans and the smell of toast and coffee signaled that breakfast had already been started. Jonathan was snoring lightly, still asleep.

Gethin couldn’t move without disturbing him. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay on that couch forever.

The clatter of a tray and the clink of teacups and spoons being set down on the coffee table made him groan at the prospect of food. And Jonathan woke with a grunt, shifting carefully as he attempted to extricate himself from Gethin without disturbing him.

“’M awake,” Gethin said, moving so that their legs weren’t tangled together. He managed to sit up, scooting to one side of the couch to make room for Jonathan.

Harri was pouring cups of coffee, setting out a bowl of sugar and a glass of cream. He also had a plate of toast and a jar of peanut butter along with a knife and a couple stir spoons. Once he situated everything, he picked up a mug of his own—plain black coffee—and sat down in the chair opposite the couch with a gusty sigh. By now, Jonathan had sat up as well, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he fixed his own mug of coffee—a scoop of sugar and a splash of cream.

“You opening the shop today?” Harri asked.

Gethin fixed his own mug with a scoop of sugar and took a sip before he answered. “I figured, yeah,” he said.

“And what about you?” Harri asked, looking to Jonathan.

“I guess I’d better find a motel,” Jonathan said carefully, scratching the stubble on his chin. “And probably get more clothes at least. Breakfast too.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Harri said, waving a dismissive hand as he grabbed a slice of toast. He unscrewed the top off the peanut butter and took a generous knife-ful to spread. “You’ll stay here. I have no problems with it, and Gethin needs you. And this is breakfast.”

“I’m right here,” Gethin mumbled, grabbing his own slice of toast. He took a bite of it plain.

“Yeah, and so is Jonathan,” Harri said, his mouth full of bread and peanut butter. “And I’m not stupid.” He took a loud slurp of his coffee. “It’s not many times you get to be young, dumb, and in love. There’s a thrill to that kind of first love.”

Gethin buried his face in a hand with a groan. “Da-ad,” he said.

Jonathan was trying to hide a smile behind his own coffee.

“Listen to what I’m saying,” Harri went on, ignoring the way Gethin’s neck was starting to blush red. “I’m an old man and that means I have something to say about what I’ve lived through.” He tapped the table to emphasize his words. “Don’t turn your back on the ones you love.”

“Yes, sir,” Jonathan said, nodding. He glanced over to Gethin and smiled. “Never.”

“Which is why,” Harri went on, shifting in his seat. “I can’t stay here. I gotta go back to your mum. Gotta make sure she’s just as alright as you are.” He chuckled. “You both tend to be over dramatic at times.”

That made Gethin look up, surprised. “You’re going back?” he said.

Harri nodded. “Your mum’s the most stubborn person I know,” he said. “And I love her. I’m gonna go back and make sure she knows that I haven’t abandoned her. Who knows, maybe I can talk some sense into her.”

Gethin didn’t want to eat his toast anymore. “Will you come back?” he said. “I don’t . . . I don’t want you to leave.” _How goddamn selfish did he have to be?!_

Harri laughed and took another bite of toast. “I’m also running out of days I can take off of work,” he said. “Don’t think I am doing this for the greater good. I need to get back to work before they fire me.”

Gethin nodded and picked up his coffee again. “I understand,” he said.

“You’ve got a pantry of food, a shop to run, a life to live,” Harri said and gestured to Jonathan. “You’ve got a man who loves you and a community who supports you. You’ve got a good thing. You’ve got many good things.”

“If I may, sir,” Jonathan said, lifting a hesitant hand and settling it on Gethin’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of him. The best I can. Make sure he gets food and sleep.”

“Again, I’m sitting right here,” Gethin said but he was smiling.

“You’d better,” Harri said, popping the last bite of toast into his mouth and chasing it with the rest of his coffee. “Because there’s nothing scarier than your boyfriend’s father when your boyfriend isn’t treated right.”

“No, sir,” Jonathan said. “And I know that by experience.”

“Right then,” Harri said, grabbing his boots from where they sat next to the chair. He pulled them on, pulling the laces tight from the toe up to the ankle. Then he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his back from where it was hanging off the back of the chair. “I’m off.”

Jonathon stood too, offering his hand to Harri. “It was very nice to meet you, sir,” he said. “Thank you, for being . . . . Understanding, I guess. And for the well-wishes.”

Harri grasped his hand tightly and pumped it once with a smile. “You can drop the sir,” he said. “And it’s the least I can do. And Geth—“

Gethin looked up, startled as if he didn’t know why he was being dragging into the conversation suddenly.

Harri smiled down at him and winked. “Do him well. Blokes talk of the woman of Paris, and I assume the men are just as good.”

“Dad!” Gethin said, dropping his head to his hands again.

Harri only laughed and shouldered his bag. With one last wave, he clomped down the steps and was apparently gone, leaving the shop and house quiet.

“What do you think?” Jonathan said, looking down at Gethin with a cheeky smile. “What do you say we finish breakfast and then open up shop?”

Gethin groaned and flopped back down on the couch, burying his face in the pillows. “Can’t we just sleep in all day?” he said. “Come on, Jona, come lay down.” He peeked out and grinned. “I’ll kiss you.”

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “You make a tempting offer,” he said and leaned down, grabbing Gethin underneath his arms and pulling him up easily, just as strong as always. Or maybe Gethin was lighter. “But I told your dad I would get you up and busy.”

“Put me down!” Gethin demanded. He was on his tiptoes, but it was still degrading.

Jonathan immediately obliged, setting him down. Just as quickly, he was shoving another cup of coffee into his hands. He did, also, lean down and plant an unembarrassed kiss right on his lips. It was slow and drawn out, a sweet luxury they hadn’t been able to afford the past couple days, and by the end of it, Gethin was smiling against Jonathan’s lips. If he wasn’t holding a mug full of hot, black coffee, he would have been hugging Jonathan to him, clutching his hair and his clothes. As it was, Jonathan pulled away and gave Gethin a swat on the ass.

“Go on,” he said. “Trying to seduce me with kiss, hah!”

“It _was_ working,” Gethin said, trying to muster a pout but failing. He took a drink of his coffee instead, wincing at the bitter taste.

“Finish your toast downstairs,” Jonathan said. “Behind the counter. Get this place open.”

“Fine,” Gethin relented, picking up his half-finished piece of toast and heading to the stairs. “But you’re coming down too, yeah?”

“I’ll clean up here,” Jonathan said, gesturing to the living room. “Then I’ll be down. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Gethin said and slowly made his way down the steps. He was still in his pajamas and didn’t have any shoes on, but no one was going to look twice at his t-shirt and sweatpants and no one would see his feet behind the counter.

He unlocked the front door and dragged the ‘open’ sign out onto the sidewalk. He made sure all the lights were on and everything looked awake before settling behind the counter with his mug and fashion magazine with the headlines of the latest trends in Paris. He was content knowing that Jonathan was upstairs and would soon be downstairs. All the same, he was done with the articles and the pictures all too soon and with no customers yet so early in the morning, he was left to muse the empty store over his toast crumbs and dregs of coffee.

And that’s how he decided the place was all too dull and needed a fresh coat of paint. How odd, that only yesterday, he wanted to do nothing but lay in bed. He laughed, to himself, how quickly life changed. How much he had changed.

“You look much better when you smile.”

Gethin looked up at Jonathan, leaning in the doorway of the stairwell, watching him with a smile of his own. Gethin playfully scowled, but he couldn’t stay angry, and Jonathan walked over to join him behind the counter.

“What do you think of a fresh coat of paint for this place?” he ask. He hooked an arm around Jonathan’s waist and Jonathan hooked an arm around his.

“I say,” Jonathan said. “Do whatever you like. It is your store after all.”

Gethin raised his eyebrows.

“But yes,” Jonathan quickly added. “Every house looks better with a new color on its walls.”

“Good,” Gethin said, leaning his head on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Because I suddenly feel like painting.”


	19. Chapter 19

“I say, yellow,” Gethin said, skimming his fingers over the store’s paint swatches. “That’s bright and cheery.”

Jonathan snorted, flipping through his own section of swatches. “Bright and cheery,” he said. “Then why are the shades you are considering brownish yellow?”

Gethin paused and actually looked at the shades he was considered. His fingers rested on #D19E12 but he had been considering #E0B728. Guiltily, he stepped back, giving an embarrassed shrug.

“I don't know,” he said. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“Brown,” Jonathan said flatly. “It's warm, it's inviting, it's cozy. It makes me think of coffee.” He flipped through the tabs, looking for a shade he liked. He pulled out a card labeled #6E441F that was a milk chocolate-y brown. Immediately after, he pulled out one that was #452B13.

“But doesn't dark paint make a room smaller?” Gethin said.

Jonathan gave him a cheeky smile. “The dark shade will go on the _outside_ ,” he said. He pulled out another card, this one labeled #C79421. “And _this_ will go on the inside. Yeah?”

“Then that’s twice as much painting,” Gethin said.

“Just yesterday you were all excited to paint and now you're scared of using two colors?” Jonathan said. “Come on, it won't be that bad.”

Gethin stepped to his side and took his hand. “You bicker like an old man,” he teased, leaning up to try to place a kiss on Jonathan’s cheek.

Jonathan pulled back before Gethin made contact, taking a step away and turning his attention back to the swatches. He pulled his hand away too, flipping through the options instead of meeting Gethin’s gaze.

“How about something caramel-y?” he suggested conversationally. “That’s kind of yellow and brown. A compromise.” He didn’t look at Gethin, only at his hands and the color cards.

Gethin frowned. “What do you mean?” he said. “Jonathan, what’s wrong?”

Jonathan looked at him then, an easy smile on his lips, his hair falling across his forehead in a way that made Gethin was to brush it back. “What do you mean?” he said and gestured to the colors. “We’re just trying to pick out colors, right?”

Gethin sighed. “No, what’s _wrong_?” he said, stepping back to Jonathan’s side. “You don’t feel good?” He half expected Jonathan to step away again, to pull back like before, but Jonathan ducked his head and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“You’re okay with this?” he said. “Like, out in public? After your mum?”

That hadn’t even occurred to Gethin. Now that he thought about it, they weren’t the only people in the store, they had seen people when they walked in. Hell, there had to be workers around here too. Someone who would see them and judge them just as harshly as his mum had judged him. Except this was in public, not in the privacy of a home.

Gethin pulled away from Jonathan now, rethinking his actions. He glanced down the aisle, not seeing anyone, worker or otherwise. He glanced in Jonathan’s direction, not seeing anyone down that way either.

He rested his hands on the rack holding all the swatches, looking down at the shades of blue. He swallowed thickly. “Have you ever . . . . have you ever been, like, yelled at?” he asked. “In a store or something?”

Jonathan flipped through the paint swatches quietly, chewing on his lower lip. He didn’t say anything for a long, long time, only studied the different colors. “I mean,” he finally said. “Yeah. Sure. It's not uncommon.”

“Jona,” Gethin started.

“Can I help you two with anything?”

Gethin nearly jumped when the worker interrupted them so suddenly. If he had been awkwardly scared, the worker's face didn't show it. Instead, he smiled that retail smile at them and gestured to the paint colors.

“What are we painting today, boys?” he said.

“His shop,” Jonathan said quickly. “Bookshop.”

“Alright then,” the worker said, stepping back to grab a thick binder out from underneath a small help podium. “Are you going for a brighter look? Or something darker? If you have a small space, it's better to lean towards brighter colors to really open it up.”

“Bright,” Gethin said.

“Warm,” Jonathan said at the same time. “And dark.”

The worker looked at them both and smiled. “So we don't know what we want,” he said, flipping the binder open. “Well, if you want both bright and warm, I would direct you to sunset colors. Anything from darker yellows to reds and maroons.”

“I told you yellow,” Gethin said, triumphantly picking out the cards he had chosen earlier.

“Well,” the worker said, pulling a couple color samples out of his book and showing them to Jonathan and Gethin. “You're going to want to go a bit more muted than that.”

“I told you brown,” Jonathan said, his own choices still in his hands.

“Well, these shades technically classify as yellow,” the worker said, looking awkwardly between them. “So, really it's not brown.”

Jonathan shrugged and laughed good-naturedly, tucking his choices back into their slots. “Alright,” he said. “I give up. We'll go with yellow.”

“Well,” the worker said, now flipping to a new section of his binder. “What about blue? Not exactly as warm as brown but a darker shade could still have that effect.” He looked to Gethin. “And it's bright enough to keep the space open and inviting, just what you'd want in a bookstore.”

Gethin and Jonathan shared a look. Gethin smiled and reached out without thinking and took Jonathan's hand in his own, giving it a tight squeeze.

“I like blue,” he said.

Jonathan nodded, returning the squeeze. “Blue sounds perfect.”

They bought five buckets of the stuff as well as two buckets of white paint to trim the edges and borders, grabbing several drop cloths to put over the shelves and furniture so that they didn’t get ruined. They left the shop satisfied with the compromise and still walking hand in hand.  

They started painting the shop that afternoon, setting up the cloths and uncapping the buckets of paint. The soupy pools of color were vibrant, and Gethin wanted to dunk his hands into them just to feel it squish between his fingers. Thankfully, Jonathan handed him a brush before he had the chance to try it out.

“Which wall do you want to start with?” Jonathan asked, settling his hands on his hips to survey the store.

“Hm, the one behind the register?” Gethin suggested. “And then do the one next to the stairs before going behind the shelves?”

Jonathan grinned. “You have the best ideas,” he said.

Gethin’s cheeks went hot. “Stop it,” he said, crouching to dunk his brush into the first bucket of blue. He slathered a large scoop across the currently white wall, working it out to cover as much space as possible.

“I have to make up for the store,” Jonathan said, sneaking up behind him and hugging him. He ducked down to rest his chin on Gethin’s shoulder, placing a tickling kiss on his temple.

Gethin laughed. “We have to paint,” he protested, trying to continue his own work. He yelped when Jonathan scooped him up and plopped him on the counter. Before he could protest, Jonathan was kissing him, swallowing up his words with his own mouth.

Gethin closed his eyes and let him sink into the moment, kissing Jonathan back as slowly as he could, wanting to drag it out. Jonathan’s hands rested on his hips. Sitting on the counter as he was, Gethin was at the perfect height. He didn’t even have to stretch up or try to pull Jonathan down. He could just enjoy kissing him.

“You’re dripping paint,” Jonathan suddenly said. 

Gethin pulled away and glanced down so see a splotch on his pants. “Well, I’m blaming you,” he said, moving his brush so he wouldn’t get any more on himself.

Jonathan laughed, leaning away from him. “Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically.

Gethin only gave him a cheeky grin, sliding down off the counter and stooping to gather another glob of paint on his brush, sweeping it against the wall. “Come on,” he said. “Get your own brush. I don’t want to do this by myself.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Jonathan said, but he grabbed another brush and his own bucket of paint.

It was like France all over again. It was like the painting the sets again with the smell of sawdust and acetone in the air. Gethin half expected for Sylvie to pop her head out of the shelves or for Lou and Simóne to come through the door with coffee for everyone. But it was just him and Jonathan and their paint brushes.   

It went quickly when Jonathan wasn’t trying to sneak kisses or dab dots of paint on Gethin’s cheeks. He had a dozen blue freckles before they were done, scattered across his cheeks and nose. But when he started to clean everything up though, Jonathan stopped him, catching his hands and pulling him away from the paint.

“Wait,” he said. “I want to try something.” He slipped his fingers under Gethin’s shirt. “May I?”

Gethin’s heart kicked up a notch as Jonathan pushed him back against the counter. “Yeah,” he said, helping Jonathan pull his shirt up over his head and then completely off.

“We did this on set once,” Jonathan said, pulling his own shirt off. He laughed sheepishly. “Well, we were drunk and had about three hours of sleep.”

He motioned for Gethin to sit back up on the desk while he set one of the still-open buckets of blue paint down on one end of it. Gethin wasn’t sure what he was going to do. If he was being honest with himself, he was a little nervous. As he watched, Jonathan dipped his brush back into the paint, swirling it a couple times and then drawing it out. He traced a careful heart in blue on Gethin’s shoulder, filling it in and then stepping back to admire his work.

The paint was cold on Gethin’s skin, making him shiver. Jonathan’s face was still scrunched in concentration as he dipped the paint brush back into the bucket.

“You paint on each other?” Gethin said.

Jonathan nodded, still studying Gethin’s chest and shoulders as if trying to decide where he could paint next. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s like. . . . art. It’s fun, I guess.”

Gethin grinned. He reached over and settled his palm flat against the surface of the paint. It was just as squishy as he imagined it but more cold then he realized. He lifted his hand up, watching it drip off his fingers. He then leaned closer to Jonathan and pressed a hand print right across his chest. He grinned wider, pulling his hand away slowly so that the print wouldn’t be disturbed.

Jonathan returned his grin and dunked his entire hand into the bucket. He smeared a blue sky across Gethin’s arm, leaving swirls with his fingertips down to the backs of Gethin’s hands.

Gethin dunked both of his hands, letting them drip for a couple seconds to get rid of the extra paint. He left twin handprints on Jonathan’s cheeks as he pulled him down into a kiss.

“That’s cheating,” Jonathan mumbled against his mouth.

“What’s cheating?” Gethin asked, pulling his hands away and pressing polka dots down Jonathan’s neck with his fingertips.

Jonathan used his brush to add more hearts to Gethin’s shoulders. He traced the lines of his collar bone, down his sternum, having to re-dip his brush before finishing with streaks up Gethin’s ribs.

Gethin held still until he pulled away and then dipped two of his fingers into the paint. He left Van Gogh swirls across the chub of Jonathan’s stomach, adding circles for the stars and moon. In flat blue, it didn’t look that impressive. Gethin signed it with a sloppily drawn heart.

Before he knew what was happening, Jonathan was pulling him up, crashing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Gethin kissed him back, laughing against Jonathan’s mouth.

He had handprints on his hips, blue paint on the buttons of his pants. They left blue streaks on the railing up the stairs and messing splotches on the sheets of the bed. Jonathan’s lips were painted blue as he kissed down Gethin’s chest, and Gethin hitched his hips up, helping Jonathan shove off his pants and underwear.

He gasped when Jonathan’s mouth wandered lower.

Jonathan had blue pressed onto his shoulders and paint in his hair. Gethin had blue on his thighs, from his hips to his knees as Jonathan couldn’t seem to keep his hands in one place for too long.

Gethin had never had a blowjob before. He felt dirty calling it that, but what Jonathan was doing with his tongue was far from clean. Gethin knew boys in school who bragged about getting them from girls behind the dumpsters. It had never sounded appealing to Gethin but now. Oh, but _now_.

He moaned as Jonathan pulled up and then sunk back down. He fisted the sheets in his hands, leaving sloppy prints of blue on the fabric. He tilted his head back, shuddering with the sensations, things he had never felt before. And before he realized what was happening, he was spilling into Jonathan’s mouth and slumping back against the sheets, out of breath.

He blushed hot red was Jonathan sat up and swallowed. Jonathan only grinned.

“Was that not what you were expecting?” he asked, crawling up so he could lay down next to Gethin.

“God, no,” Gethin said, his cheeks still uncomfortably warm. Was he supposed to kiss Jonathan now? What would that taste like? “I just— I never—“

Jonathan enveloped him in his arms, pulling him into his chest. The paint was semi dry by now, cracking slightly between them. Gethin shifted, trying to get comfortable where he wasn’t leaning on anything. It took him a moment before he could relax with a sigh.

“I didn’t mean to push that on you,” Jonathan said.

“No, no,” Gethin said, trying to reassure him. He petted his fingers through Jonathan’s hair. “I’ve just—I’ve never had—”

Jonathan smiled at his embarrassed blush, kissing Gethin’s cheek gently. “Oh,” he said. “Well I’m glad I could be the first then.”

Gethin blushed even harder, and Jonathan laughed.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” Gethin said.

“I’m theater,” Jonathan said as if that was an answer. “I’m larger than life.”

“Not to mention pretentious,” Gethin said.

“Humble,” Jonathan corrected.

Gethin laughed. “You know it’s like one in the afternoon,” he said, resting his head against Jonathan’s chest, listening to the heavy thump of his heart and the whoosh of his lungs.

“So?” Jonathan said, trailing his fingers down Gethin’s back and lazily scratching him between his shoulders.

“So we can’t just fall asleep,” Gethin said. “We painted _one wall_. We don’t deserve to nap.” He tried to push himself up but Jonathan’s arms wrapped around his waist only pulled him back down.

“Oh, come on,” Jonathan said, forcing him to be the little spoon as he curled around him. “You’re naked. We’re both sleepy. Let’s doze the day away. Why does it matter?”

The offer certainly did sound tempting. Jonathan’s weight was reassuring. Gethin let himself settle again, burying his face in his pillow to block out the sunlight that trickled through the windows. He grinned against the fabric as he felt Jonathan’s hands settle on his chest and stomach. He didn’t mean to but before he knew it, he was drifting off to sleep.

 

~*~

 

When he woke up, the sun had set far in the sky, the light in the room barely a dusky glow. Jonathan was still snoring, and Gethin could feel the tickle of his breath on the back of his neck. When he moved, the sheets clung to him, sticking to the splotches of paint that had dried while he slept. He groaned, having to peel them off himself.

“What's wrong?” Jonathan asked. Gethin must've woken him up.

“The paint is everywhere,” Gethin grumbled, finally pulling the sheets of his body. He rolled over and climbed out of bed, stretching his arms.

“Not everywhere,” Jonathan said, giving Gethin a sly look.

Gethin scowled at him, gathering the top blanket to bunch around his waist. “I’m going to shower,” he said.

He dropped the sheets off in the laundry room before hurrying to the bathroom. It was awkward walking around with no clothes, even if he was in his own home. He twisted the water on, carefully adjusting the temperature. He gave it a couple moments to adjust before climbing in.

He was just starting to scrub shampoo suds into his hair when the shower curtain was pulling aside, making him squeak in alarm.

But it was only Jonathan, climbing in next to him. Gethin got a glimpse of his clothes discarded on the bathroom floor before the curtain fell shut.

“What are you doing?!” he said, pressing his sudsy hands against Jonathan’s chest. His shower was honestly too small for the both of them.

“Saving you money on your water bill,” Jonathan said with a grin, reaching around Gethin to grab the bottle of shampoo for himself. He squeezed out a generous dollop out onto his hands and immediately started scrubbing.

“We’re going to fall on top of each other,” Gethin said, already trying to find better footing on the wet tile. “And that’s going to hurt.”

“Or,” Jonathan said, finishing sudsing up his hair and grabbing Gethin’s one and only loofah. “We help each other get clean and then go and eat dinner.”

“I think we’re more likely to fall on each other,” Gethin grumbled. He shifted so he was under the spray of water and tipped his head back, running his fingers through his hair to rinse out the shampoo. He flinched when he felt Jonathan’s hands on his ribs, almost curling in on himself.

“Easy,” Jonathan murmured, gently scrubbing away the paint on Gethin’s stomach and chest.

It took Gethin a moment before he _was_ able to relax, letting himself sink into Jonathan’s ministrations. Jonathan’s fingers skimmed over his ribs, only pressing hard enough to clean the paint away. Once the shampoo was completely rinsed out, Gethin looked at Jonathan, taking the loofah from him. They switched places, so Jonathan could rinse the shampoo out of his own hair. Gethin starting to scrub his chest in return.

“I can’t believe I wasted an entire afternoon,” he said, reaching up gently to wash his handprints off of Jonathan’s cheeks.

“I wouldn’t say you wasted it,” Jonathan said, resting his hands on Gethin’s hips as if to steady him while he worked.

“I don’t want the shop to close,” Gethin said, unable to stop the pain from entering his voice. “I opened it for my mum, and now it’s all I have.”

“Hey, hey,” Jonathan said, swaying him slowly under the spray of water. “It’ll be okay.”

Gethin chewed his lip as he concentrated, being extra careful with the paint on Jonathan’s neck. “I mean, I _wish_ ,” he said. “But business was slow before I left for France and it’s going to be slow now too. I have to start selling books soon, or else I’ll have to sell the place.”

“It won’t come to that,” Jonathan said. “I won’t let it.”

Gethin felt his heart swell in his chest. He didn’t want Jonathan to get caught up in the downward spiral of his business. He wished he had some sort of backup plan, money in an account somewhere, or something. He didn’t even realize he had stopped scrubbing until Jonathan eased the loofah out of his hands.

“We can get through this,” he said. He let the loofah drop to the floor with a wet splat and rested his hands back on Gethin’s hips, swaying him to some beat that only he could hear. “We can get through this.”

Gethin wasn’t quite sure when they had become a “we” but it felt nice saying it. It felt nice _thinking_ it. We taking on the world. We going through rough times together. We slow dancing naked under the spray of water. We slow dancing until the water went lukewarm and got to the point where we were no longer saving money. We.


	20. Chapter 20

Gethin noticed the girl when she stopped by the shop two days in a row. He hardly got any customers so the same person showing up twice was a surprise. When she showed up the third day, in the same jeans and sweatshirt, Gethin pulled Jonathan aside with his stomach in knots.

“Jona, she’s been here for three days,” he whispered. He had pulled them behind the history section where he was sure no one would disturb them. “And she always stays until closing.”

Jonathan frowned, wringing his hands. He looked just as worried as Gethin felt. “You don’t think,” he said. “That she—”

“She _has_ to have a home,” Gethin whispered firmly, simply because he didn’t want to believe it for himself. “She _has_ to.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t?” Jonathan said.

The girl’s hair was starting to get matt-y, the dirty blonde strands starting the clump. Gethin couldn’t help but wonder when the last time she had a shower. It made his heart hurt.  

“She barely looks sixteen,” he hissed. “Jona! What do we do?”

Jonathan thought for a moment, studying the spines of history books. “Get her tea, I guess,” he said. “Maybe she’ll talk if she knows we’re friendly.”

Gethin chewed his lip and finally nodded. That seemed like the best plan. It was the _only_ plan he had at the moment. He gave Jonathan’s hand a quick squeeze. “Man the register?” he said, barely waiting for Jonathan to nod before letting go and hurrying up the stairs.  

He put the kettle on and searched through the cupboards. With Jonathan doing the shopping, they were never really short on food ever and that included tea. Gethin shuffled quickly through the different boxes before finding the mint, figuring that would be a safe neutral to offer. By the time he had the tea bag and a couple spoonfuls of honey in a mug, the water was hot enough to brew a decent cup. Gethin turned the burner off and poured a cupful, dunking the tea bag a couple times before blowing on the steam and picking it up.

The girl was where she had been before. Gethin had two overstuffed sofas pushed off into the corner near the display window. After browsing the shelves, the girl would usually select one and sit down. If Gethin didn’t bother her for a couple minutes, she would usually be asleep within a half hour.

And that’s where she was when Gethin made it downstairs with the cup of tea. He set it carefully on the small table between the chairs. Her head had lolled off to the side, mouth slightly open, a volume of Grimms’ Fairy Tales propped open in her lap.

“Excuse me,” Gethin whispered. He nudged her shoulder gently, not wanting to scare her. “Excuse me, miss?”

“I’ll pay for it!!” the girl yelled, bolting upright. The book tumbled from her lap, and Gethin jumped back, caught completely unaware. The girl’s face flushed a bright red when she saw him. “I am so sorry,” she blurted, grabbing the book and then gathering all her stuff. “I’ll buy the book. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I can leave.”

“Oh, no,” Gethin said quickly. “You don’t have to leave!”

The girl gave him a distrusting look, brushing his bangs back away from her face. “What do you mean?” she said.

Gethin gestured to the tea. “I just wanted to talk,” he said. “I made tea.”

The girl sighed and set the book down on the table next to the cup of tea. “Look, bud, I’m not interested. You're not my type.” She shook a finger at him. “I _will_ scream.”

“Oh! No!” Gethin said, immediately taking a step back and putting up his hands. “I’m not like that—I mean, I didn’t mean—that’s not what I meant!”

Luckily, Jonathan stepped in, appearing from behind a bookshelf with a plate of biscuits and a sandwich. Where he had gotten them or how he had the time to run upstairs and make them, Gethin wasn’t sure. Jonathan rested a hand on Gethin’s shoulder as he leaned down to set the plate next to the cup. His touch lingered and then he trailed his hand down, linking their fingers and holding Gethin’s hand tight.

The girl’s eyes snapped to the action, and she stiffened. “You’re gay?” she said.

Gethin flushed, trying to discreetly pull his hand out of Jonathan’s grip, but Jonathan held him tight. Gethin was about to open his mouth and say no, because he didn’t want to be yelled at so early in the morning. But Jonathan was already nodding.

“Yeah,” he said.

And suddenly the girl was crying, blubbering and sobbing as she hugged her bag to her chest. Gethin wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He panicked for a moment before Jonathan nudged him towards the stairs.

“I think we’re going to need tissues,” he whispered.

Gethin hurried off, glad to have something to do. He grabbed a couple wads of toilet paper and two more cups of tea before returning downstairs. The girl was still sobbing when he got back but Jonathan had her pulled to his chest, patting her back reassuringly.  

“And then—and then—and then he y-y-yelled at me that he never-er wanted to s-s-see me again,” she was saying, struggling to speak around her tears. “And I left and h-h-haven’t gone back-k.”

“Okay, okay,” Jonathan said, rubbing her back. “Let’s get some food in you, yeah? We’ve got tea and sandwiches. Why don’t you eat something, and we can talk more.”

The girl sat up and sniffed, accepting the toilet paper from Gethin and wiping her cheeks and then blowing her nose. She accepted the tea from Jonathan and hungrily tore into the sandwich and biscuits, eating it faster than Gethin was comfortable with. He wondered if he should get her something more. But Jonathan was motioning for him to sit, so Gethin squeezed himself in next to Jonathan on the other chair.

The girl had pulled herself together more, her tears stopped for the most part as she sipped slowly on her tea. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked like a mess, and Gethin wondered if he should lock the front door so that no one could walk in and disturb them.

“I’m Steph,” the girl said. “I’m gay. Too. I’m gay too.”

“What?” Gethin said, almost dropping his own cup of tea.

“Well, I’m lesbian,” Steph clarified, still hugging her backpack protectively. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I swear. The coffee shop kicked me out after three days when they realized I couldn’t buy anything. I had nowhere else to go.”

The realization struck Gethin in the chest, and he felt his blood run cold. “Your parents kicked you out?” he blurted without thinking.

Steph nodded, a couple fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice going a little shaky. She took a huge gulp of tea.

Gethin looked to Jonathan in surprise. He then looked back to Steph. “I was!” he blurted and then flushed hot. “I mean,” he said, his voice losing the enthusiasm. “My parents. My mum. They didn’t—I mean, she kicked me out too.”

Steph looked at him again, blinking back her tears. “It sucks,” she said, spitting out the words. “It fucking sucks.”

Gethin could feel his own throat closing up as he choked up. He took a drink of his own tea now, hoping that he would be able to hold himself back.

“I guess we have more in common then we realized,” Jonathan said, thankfully holding himself together. Gethin was thankful for that. Jonathan was a rock, his rock. And someone needed to think clearly if both he and Steph were crying.

Steph laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “Does this mean you won’t kick me out? If you give me a couple days, I’m sure I can find some other place. And then I’ll be gone.”

“No!” Gethin said, probably a little more forcefully than necessary.

Steph looked at him warily, her grip shifting on her backpack.

“I mean, I have a sofa,” he said. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay here. We have more than enough food.” Gethin looked to Jonathan for support. “You could help around the bookshop if need be. I’m not going to force you to leave.”

“I don’t have money,” Steph said. She dug into her pocket and then pulled out a couple crumpled bills and coins, slapping them down on the table. “I’m broke.”

“You don’t have to pay,” Gethin said. He placed his hand on Jonathan’s, urging him to speak up, to support this idea.

“Of course,” Jonathan said, giving Gethin’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll do anything to help.”

And then Steph was crying all over again, sobbing into her hands as she lost it. The toilet paper in her grip was already used too much but that doesn’t stop her from using it more. She wiped at her cheeks, and Jonathan leaned forward, gently taking her bag from her. He passed it off to Gethin and then took Steph in his arms.

“Why don’t you take that upstairs,” he murmured. “We’ll be up shortly.”

Gethin nodded, standing and hoisting the bag up. It was much heavier than it looked and he almost dropped it before recovering and hurrying up the stairs.

He left the bag next to the couch and hurried to his bedroom to collect his spare set of sheets, glad he had washed them since Jonathan last used them. He set about making the couch, fitting pillows with new pillowcases and fluffing up the cushions. He then hurries to the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. He grabs two cans of chicken noodle soup from the cupboard and cracks them open, dumping them into the pot. He set it to medium heat and left it to warm up.

He tiptoed down the stairs, not wanting to make too much of a commotion. He paused at the foot of the stairs, not completely stepping into the shop just yet. He could hear Jonathan talking softly.

“You’re not alone,” he was saying. “This thing—this hatred—a lot of people know how you feel. Hardly ever is life easy for people like us.”

 _People like us_. The words sent chills through Gethin’s chest, and he chewed his lip. He felt guilty eavesdropping but it was too late to walk in now. He stayed where he was, continuing to listen.

“This isn’t on you,” Jonathan continued. “It’s not your fault. People think many different things and sometimes they only act the way they do because they don’t understand. Sometimes they are so scared of change that they don’t realize they are hurting someone else.”

Gethin felt new tears welling up in his eyes. The words simply struck too close to home, opening old wounds that he thought had closed over. It also made his heart hurt to think that Jonathan had gone through the same thing. Had he had someone to comfort him the same way he was comforting Gethin? Or had he been all alone? Gethin didn't want to think about it.

“We’ll help you any way we can,” Jonathan was saying now. “Please understand that. You can stay here as long as you need. We would never turn you away.”

“Thank you so much,” Steph said. Her voice sounded choked up but still together, like she hadn't quite started crying again but was very close.

Jonathan laughed. “And Gethin is the best,” he said. “He's a bigger help that he knows. And I think he's going through something a little similar to what you're going through. ‘Kay? You'll do great here.”

Gethin quickly wiped his tears away, glad they hadn't quite fallen yet. He stomped his way down the last couple steps, careful to make a lot of noise, as if he hadn't just been listening in on their conversation. And hopefully he didn't look like he was about to cry.

“Everything's ready,” he said, forcing a smile. Maybe that wasn't necessarily needed but Steph forced a smile back at him. “I'm gonna lock up,” he went on. “At least until you get settled. Jonathan can show you the upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Steph said, accepting Jonathan's arm and climbing the stairs.

When they were finally out of sight, Gethin grabbed the keys from behind the counter. He dragged the Open sign in from the sidewalk and locked the front doors. He cleaned up the book and plate from where Steph had been sitting, returning the book to the shelf and then carrying the plate up the stairs.

Jonathan and Steph were in the living room, settling in. Steph had her jacket off, revealing a grungy t-shirt underneath with the Wham! logo and the bubble letters of ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ with several kisses painted around them. Gethin could now see that her jeans were scuffed with dirt, but he couldn’t tell if the rips at the knees and thighs were intentional or not. He wondered if he should offer to do a load of laundry for her. She was unloading her bag, pulling out fistfuls of clothes and other odds and ends. Trinkets and picture frames tumbled out along with a couple notebooks and a makeup bag. A toothbrush and a towel.

“I wasn’t able to grab much,” she said. “And I ran out of money basically a couple days ago. I was thinking about pawning off a couple of this stuff.” She snagged a porcelain angel off the floor, turning it over in her hands. “Though I’m not sure how much I could get for it.”

“There’s no need for that,” Jonathan said, covering her hands in his own, pulling the angel away from her. “We’ll find a way without selling anything you care about.”

“Thank you,” Steph said.

“How about you go take a shower,” Jonathan suggested, nudging her in the direction of the bathroom. “Down the hall to the left. Clean yourself up and Geth and I will see what other food we got in the cupboards.”

Steph clutched what looked like her only clean t-shirt. “Oh, I don’t have—”

“There’s shampoo and conditioner already in there,” Jonathan said, already pushing her along. “And there’s washcloths and towels and soap. Anything you need. Now go.”

“Thank you,” Steph said again and hurried away. After a couple moments, the bathroom door snapped shut, and then after a couple more moments, the water turned on.

“She’s very brave,” Jonathan said, joining Gethin in the kitchen.

“I can’t even begin to understand,” Gethin said, keeping himself busy with the dishes, rinsing off what they might need in a couple minutes. “Who is able to handle that kind of heartbreak?”

“I know someone,” Jonathan said, resting his hands lightly on Gethin’s hips, massaging his lower back with his thumbs.

Gethin smiled to himself but couldn’t move enough to shake off Jonathan’s touch. “Shut up,” he said. “I fell apart the moment I couldn’t see you. I used up so many tissue boxes. If my dad hadn’t have been here, I would have wasted away into nothing.”

Jonathan laughed and moved his hands from Gethin’s hips to his stomach, playing with the buttons of his shirt, teasingly popping them open and then slipping them closed again. “You’re so modest,” Jonathan said.

Gethin tried to shrug off his weight, wanting to get back to preparing food. “I can’t believe you,” he said. “Steph is two rooms over—”

“And she knows who we are,” Jonathan finished.

“This is a serious situation,” Gethin said, trying to pull away from Jonathan to put the kettle back on the stove. Jonathan only pulled him back, enveloping him in his arms.

“And I am a serious man,” Jonathan said.

Gethin squeaked as Jonathan’s hands wandering up to his chest, cupping him back against Jonathan’s own chest, tugging him into a warm embrace. It made him feel small. It made him feel loved. And at the same time, Gethin needed to finish meal preparations. He couldn’t offer comforting words like Jonathan could. The main way he could help Steph was to keep her fed.

“I need to finish this,” he insisted, maybe a bit too snappishly. He couldn’t help the tension that leaked into his voice. “Go clean up the living room or something.”

Jonathan seemed to sense his mood shift because he let go of Gethin, stepping back to give him space. “Hey,” he said softly. “Things will be okay.”

Gethin set the kettle down hard, clanging it against the stovetop, sending the water inside sloshing. “What if it’s not?” he said. “What if things don’t turn out okay?! I didn’t even know—everything that’s happening—what if things don’t turn out as good as you keep saying?!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Jonathan said. He didn’t try approaching him, keeping his distance and instead leaning against the counter, hugging himself. “Things are crazy right now, but they will get better. I promise.”

“But what if they don’t?!” Gethin was borderline yelling, hands clenched into fists, glaring down at the kettle on the stove. He didn’t know what came over him, maybe just a sudden hatred for a world that treated him and Jonathan and Steph and everyone like them like shit. Maybe it was just pent up emotions that he had been trying to ignore, suddenly bubbling up all at once. For whatever reason, he didn’t think he could believe Jonathan, not right now.

“They will,” Jonathan insisted. “Because that’s how the world works. Things are bad but things get better. Nothing can stay bad forever, that’s impossible.”

 _It’s entirely possible,_ Gethin wanted to say. _It’s entirely possible because look at Steph. Look at how bad her life is and it’s up to us to make it better? How is that possible?_

Instead he sighed and slumped against the stove, hanging his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just—I guess I wasn’t ready for the world. I shouldn’t have left home. I should never have gone to France. I’m an _idiot_.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Jonathan said. He moved across the kitchen, stopping next to Gethin. He didn’t pull him into an embrace and try to comfort him with a kiss. Instead, he reached across him to turn the burner on and situate the kettle over the flame. He pushed a mug into Gethin’s hands, ripping open a tea bag and plopping it in. “And you shouldn’t have stayed home. If you hadn’t gone to France, we wouldn’t have met. And then where do you think we would be right now?”

“If I never met you, I would have never been gay,” Gethin said quietly, staring down at the teabag in his mug. He didn’t move as Jonathan added a scoop of sugar. The water began to boil.

Jonathan laughed. “I think you would still be gay,” he said. “You just wouldn’t be gay with me. You’d be gay with someone else.”

“How do you know?” Gethin said.

“Because,” Jonathan said. “I was the same way. I fell in love with my best friend in high school. Didn’t tell anyone. I thought if I shoved it down far enough, deep enough, then everything would be okay.” He laughed. “And then I went to college in Paris, got roped into theater and acting. You know how gay theater and acting are?”

Gethin laughed without meaning to.

“My first pride parade was a riot between AIDs activists and gay liberationists,” Jonathan said. “My first pride parade was a mass meeting of pedophiles, homosexuals, doctors, and feminists. My first pride parade was a fist fight for rights, good and bad. My first pride parade, a drag queen put me in make-up and heels and we shouted at the sky how much we wanted husbands.”  

“Really?” Gethin said, looking up from his mug.

Jonathan nodded, pouring hot water into both of their mugs, stirring in the sugar of his own before passing the spoon to Gethin. “Hell hath no fury like a queen doomed, looking for a husband—mine is dead, there could have been 14,000 more of us,” he said, sounding like he was quoting some slogan. He smiled, proud at his memory. “There were rainbow flags and protest signs and god, was it a pride parade!”

Gethin couldn’t help but smile with him, getting caught up in Jonathan’s story as he continued talking.

“What I’m saying,” Jonathan said. “Is that I ended up good and gay, despite never kissing my first high school boy crush. And even if you had never kissed me—” His eyes twinkled with teasing mischief. “You would have found your own pride to claim.”

Gethin smiled at him, cupping his hands around his warm mug, lifting it to take a sip. “You really think so?” he said.

Jonathan nodded firmly. “I really do,” he said.

The water in the shower turned off, reminding Gethin that they weren’t alone in the house. Quickly, he set aside his mug and started preparing one for Steph, being careful with the amount of sugar he added because he wasn’t sure how she took it. He took it to the living room, setting it down on the coffee table just as Steph walked out of the hall.

She had a towel wrapped around herself, cinched right under her collarbone. She had her clothes balled up in one hand and her hair plastered down across her neck and shoulders. She flinched at Gethin but then brushed passed him, digging through her bag until she pulled out an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of exercise shorts. Without a word, she disappeared back into the bathroom only to reappear a couple moments, now dressed.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “I haven’t had a hot shower in days.”

She certainly looked much better. The tear tracks had been scrubbed from her cheeks and her hair no longer hung in clumps in front of her face. She almost looked like a completely different person. She finger-combed her hair back and flopped on the couch. Gethin offered her the cup of tea.

“Here,” he said. “Do you want anything else to eat?”

“I’m good,” Steph said as she accepted the mug. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” Gethin said. “If you need anything, just let me or Jonathan know. We’re happy to help.” He looked up as Jonathan wandered in from the kitchen. “Or Jonathan is better. I might go down in the shop for a bit, just to make sure everything is okay for the night.”

“You aren’t, like, losing business, are you?” Steph asked, eyes darting between Jonathan and Gethin.

Gethin forced himself to laugh. “No,” he said. “I was hardly getting business anyway. It’s fine. There’s always tomorrow.”

Steph didn’t say anything, instead taking a sip of her tea. So Gethin nodded and slipped down the stairs. He double checked the locks on the doors and the cash register even though there wasn’t really a point. He made sure the books were straight and in place. He took the broom out and swept the floor just because he didn’t want to go back upstairs just yet. He wiped down the counter too and then paused, just staring out the window.

The sun was out, starting to sink in the sky though, warming things up a little. Not warm enough for someone to sleep comfortably on the streets. Gethin didn’t want to think about what would have happened to Steph otherwise. He refused to let himself think about it.

The weather was changing and so was he. So was everything around him. In good ways but also bad. Maybe Jonathan was right, and it _was_ impossible for things to stay bad, that things always had to return to being good. Gethin would admit that he felt much better than he did several minutes ago. He smiled to himself. What a beautiful impossibility.

 


	21. Chapter 21

It was Steph’s idea to paint the outside of the story along with the inside, and it was her idea to rename the store entirely. It was her who climbed on top of a ladder and sat down for nearly an hour and a half just chipping away at the paint. And she only got rid of the W-H-A-T and part of the apostrophe. She then gave up and stomped inside.

“I’m tired,” she declared. “And my arms hurt!”

“Well, I can’t leave it like that,” Gethin said. He had been sorting some new books he had rescued from a curb a couple days ago, making sure they were in good enough condition to sell.

“A bookstore called ‘The Word’ isn’t too bad,” Jonathan said, looking up from his magazine from his spot behind the counter.

“Yes, but then it sounds silly,” Gethin said. “Like, what word am I talking about? What _one word_ could possibly be that important?” He wrinkled his nose. “Plus it sounds religious.”

“What about gay?” Steph suggested, accepting the thermos of tea that Jonathan made to keep in the bookstore during opening hours.

“What do you mean?” Gethin said. He was still getting used to using the term casually. Every time he heard it, he expected some sort yelling or insult to follow. There weren’t many times where he had heard it used nicely.  

“I mean,” Steph said, hoisting herself up onto the counter, off to the side so that she wasn’t in Jonathan’s way. “That the big, almighty, amazing word, is gay. Right? And it fits all of us.”

Well, that was true. Gethin was still getting used to being affectionate with Jonathan around Steph. She barely even reacted with they kissed and touched, usually engrossed in her phone or a book she had taken from the store. He thought about it.

They had plenty of paint left over, a couple buckets of it at least. It wouldn’t be that hard to repaint over the letters that Steph had chipped off and give the rest of them a new coat.

How would the community react though? Wasn’t naming his store something like that just putting an huge target on their backs? What kind of hatred and disgust would they get then?

Gethin looked to Jonathan, wondering what he thought.

“What do you think?” he asked, when Jonathan didn’t say anything.

“We could reach out to the community,” Jonathan said. “People like Steph would know what kind of space the store is, at least. You never know who is out there. Not everyone comes out publically or declares what they are or who they like.”

Gethin hadn’t thought of that. What kind of _support_ could they give? What kind of resources and help could they give to people like he had been? Like Steph had been? People whose home lives weren’t accepting or safe enough. The target on their back would also be a sign to those who were just like them.

“Gay’s the Word,” Steph said, bouncing her heels off the front of the counter. “I like the sound of that.”

Gethin looked to Jonathan, mulling the name over. He definitely didn’t hate it. But what he thought wasn’t really the concern here. Did the pros of helping people like Steph outweigh the cons of all the negative attention they were sure to receive?

“Whatever you do,” Steph said, hopping off the counter. “Can you do it after lunch? I’m starving.” She was walking up the stairs and gone before Gethin could even think to answer.

“I guess it’s lunchtime,” Jonathan said, pushing away from the checkout counter and standing up. “What do you think? Sandwiches again? Or I think there are cans of soup in the cupboards somewhere.”

Gethin was getting bored of sandwiches. There were only so many combinations you could put between two slices of bread before repeating yourself. “Soup sounds good,” he said, walking with Jonathan to the stairs and starting to climb.

“I think we have some chicken noodle,” Jonathan said. “That with bread and butter sounds good.”

Gethin smiled at the suggestion. “I’m lucky you’re so good in the kitchen,” he said. “Or else I would be eating beans and toast every single day.”

Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “If you did,” he said. “I would still find you and cook for you. No one can eat beans and toast every day and be happy.”

Gethin laughed, grabbing Jonathan’s hand and linking their fingers as they walked into the kitchen.

Steph was already there, digging through the cupboards for herself. She was kneeling on the counter too, so she could even look onto the very top shelves. Already, surrounding her legs, were the packages and cans she had taken down and apparently found not good enough to eat.

“You should have checked the pantry,” Jonathan said, reaching around her to grab two cans of soup from the cupboard next to her. “That’s where all the good snacks are.”

“Damn it,” Steph said. “We eating soup?”

“That’s what Gethin wants,” Jonathan said, setting them down on the stove and stooping to grab a pan out of a drawer. He turned on the front burner and set the pan down. He cracked open the cans and poured them in, shaking them so all drops of broth fell out.

Gethin watched, idly leaning on the doorway. He watched Jonathan with a smile on his face without meaning to, just watching as he ripped the paper off the outside of the can and set them in the sink to be rinsed out. He watched as Jonathan grabbed a large spoon out of the silverware drawer and return to the stove, stirring the soup so it wouldn’t burn.

“God! You two are so in love!” Steph exclaimed, jumping down off the counter with a thud. “I’m so jealous!” She stormed out of the room with her hands in the air.

Gethin was blushing as soon as she had started yelling and had to cover his face with his hands when Jonathan looked to him with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Gethin mumbled, moving quickly to the cupboards to start putting away everything Steph had taken out. It was something to busy his hands and distract him from Jonathan’s knowing smile.

“ _I_ think I know what she’s talking about,” Jonathan said, wrapping his arms around Gethin and pulling him backwards into a hug.

“Gay!” Steph called from the living room. “You’re gay!”

When she said the word, it wasn’t an insult. When she said it, it made Gethin laugh and blush hard because Jonathan laughed too and hugged him tighter. And then Jonathan spun him around, cradling him close, and kissed him square on the lips.

Steph squealed in mock disgust and threw a pillow at them.

“I live in a house of gay people!” she exclaimed and then giggled. “And I love it!”

“Just you wait,” Jonathan said, pulling back from Gethin. “When you bring home a girlfriend, I’ll make sure every time you try to kiss her, I’ll stomp around in my socks and talk about how in _my_ day, gays were stoned off the streets if they so much as _looked_ at each other.”

“Oh my _God_!” Steph said, poking her head into the kitchen. “You wouldn't!”

Jonathan only grinned cheekily. “I would,” he said.

“If I bring home a girlfriend,” Steph said. “I am going to banish you two from the house. There is no way I'd let her meet you guys on the first date.”

“You mean when,” Gethin said. “ _When_ you bring home a girlfriend.”

Then, it was Steph's turn to blush bright red. She screwed up her face with a mix of a frown and embarrassment. Quickly she ducked back into the living room and out of sight. “I hate you!” she said, stomping further into the house.

Jonathan and Gethin shared a smile.

The idea that something like bringing home a girlfriend and boyfriend or really anyone could be common and expected filled Gethin’s heart with a warmth similar to alcohol. He liked hearing the word gay shouted, not as an insult, but as a matter of fact.

“I guess that settles the name issue then,” Jonathan said. “Gay’s the Word. I like the sound of that.”

“I like it too,” Gethin said.

They would take back the word, make it theirs again. It wouldn’t be an insult when they used it. Instead, it would become a badge of honor to a secret society that straight people could never have access to. A place and word all their own that no one else could touch. The bookshop would be like a safe house that people like Steph and himself could run to when things at home became too much. The bookshop would be like a secret bunker to go along with their secret society.

“I can see you thinking,” Jonathan said, his tone teasing. “Come on, we came up here for lunch and have gotten way too distracted. Let’s eat and then we can get up to whatever you have planned.”

“Okay, okay,” Gethin said with a smile. He kinda liked that Jonathan could read him so easily. It meant he didn’t always have to talk. “You get the soup and I’ll get tea?”

“Perfect,” Jonathan said, returning his smile.

They worked around each other in the kitchen, easily moving and shifting so the other had enough room to work before switching positions. It was so simple and easy, like they were meant to be there. The shower turned on down the hall, meaning Steph was probably washing up. The house will filled with the domestic noise, water running and dishes clinking. It filled with domestic smells too, chicken soup and soon, peppermint tea.

Gethin poured them all a cup, setting out cream and sugar, while Jonathan ladled several scoops of soup into three different bowls, carrying them carefully to the table and setting them down. Gethin grabbed the spoons and napkins, and they were just finishing up setting the table when Steph reappeared. Her hair was now dripping wet, leaving dark rivulets down her shirt. Gethin noticed she was wearing a pair of his boxers. He would have to talk to her about stealing his clothes.

“Yum,” she said, grabbing a bowl and spoon for herself. “Can we eat in the living room?”

“Sure,” Gethin said, picking up his bowl and mug of tea.

Jonathan followed suit, grabbing Gethin’s spoon for him as they all walked to the living room. Steph claimed the recliner, leaving Gethin and Jonathan to share the sofa for themselves. She folded herself up, sitting cross legged and balancing her bowl on her knees. She ate quickly but making sure to blow on each bite too.

“Slow down,” Gethin chided. “It’s not going anywhere.”

Steph looked up, cheeks going pink like she hadn’t realized what she was doing. She swallowed her mouthful carefully and took the next bite slower, chewing before she swallowed.

“I want to cut my hair,” she declared, brushing back her long bangs as if to make a point.

“Sure,” Jonathan said around his own spoonful of soup.

Gethin frowned. “First you want to paint the store and now you want to cut your hair?” he said.

Steph twirled her spoon. “I want to color it too,” she said. “Something . . . like. Hm, I’m thinking hot pink. My mom would never have let me color it hot pink at home. I’m gonna shave the sides and go all out.”

“Sounds cool,” Jonathan said, nodding his head in agreement. “You need money for it?”

Gethin looked between them and finally set his bowl of soup down on the coffee table, still not having taken a bite. “Paint the store, cut your hair, color it hot pink?” he repeated. “What’s with this all of a sudden?” Quickly he amended himself. “Not that it’s bad. It’s just . . . you didn’t even finish the storefront.”

“It’s fine, Geth,” Jonathan said. “I get it. It’s something that . . . I don’t know, us gays do?” He looked to Steph as if to confirm this. “Change the stuff around us? Take bad what we couldn’t have before?”

Steph thought for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I guess that’s it. I feel like a need a new look. To go with my new life I mean.”

“It’s a gay thing,” Jonathan said.

Gethin wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “How is it a gay thing?”

Jonathan smirked. “You started wearing a scarf the day after you met me,” he said. “You didn’t think I would notice? And you didn’t even realize you were gay yet.”

Gethin’s cheeks went hot with embarrassment. “How does that count?” he said. “It was a scarf! Anyone could have gone out a bought a scarf. Just because I did doesn’t mean anything.”

“Just accept that you’re gay and eat your soup, dear,” Jonathan said, smiling and taking a bite of his own.

No, Gethin needed this explained. “I’m not gay because I bought a scarf,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” Jonathan said, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “You’re gay because you’ve had sex with a man, specifically me.”

“Oh yuck!” Steph said. “Not cool, guys. I’m sitting right here.”

Gethin blushed hot and quickly picked up his bowl of soup, taking a large spoonful of noodles to keep his mouth occupied. When he looked up, Jonathan was still looking at him with a knowing smile.

“We can get your hair cut and colored too,” he said. “Steph doesn’t have to be the only one to get a big transformation.”

“I’m happy with my hair!” Gethin said.

“How about this,” Jonathan said. “Tomorrow, we can close the shop and all drive to the store. Is there a mall near here? We need someplace big. We can go clothes shopping and Steph can get her hair cut. It’ll be like makeovers.”

Gethin had to admit, that did sound like fun. So he took a bite of his soup and didn’t argue the point. “We can’t leave the storefront the way it is though,” he said. “If we’re going to the mall tomorrow, we’re painting the store tonight. I don’t want to leave it with half a sign for too long.”

Jonathan nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They finished eating the soup with only a little more conversation, mostly Steph talking about stores she wanted to visit. Afterwards, they finished their tea and put all of their dishes in the sink. Steph volunteered to do the dishes if they wanted to handle the painting.

“I’ll clean up everything,” she said. “The kitchen, the living room, and if I get done before you guys are done, I’ll come help you too.”

“Okay,” Gethin said, watching as she pulled her still-wet hair up into a ponytail.

He and Jonathan grabbed one of the leftover buckets of blue paint and headed down to the store. They didn’t immediately start painting. Instead, Jonathan found several sheets of paper behind the counter and carefully stenciled out the letters they would need so they wouldn’t have to freehand it.

“Look good?” he asked, offering them to Gethin.

Gethin nodded. “They look perfect,” he said. “And they’ll match great with the letters already up there.”

Jonathan dragged the small step ladder out of the cleaning closet, and Gethin held the front door open so he could drag it out onto the sidewalk. Gethin was the one who climbed up with a paintbrush clamped between his teeth and the bucket dangling from one hand. Jonathan held the ladder steady beneath him as he situated himself so he would be able to sit and paint without fear of falling.

“Here good?” he asked, holding up their stencils in an approximate place where he would paint.

“A little higher,” Jonathan said. “Now a little to the left. Nope, too much, back a little. Aaaaand _perfect_.”

Gethin nodded and held the stencil steady while he one-handedly uncapped the bucket of paint and dipped his brush in. He swirled it for a moment before holding it up, letting it drip for a moment, before quickly marking where the first letter would go.

He worked slowly and meticulously, wanting it to look and be perfect. Jonathan chatted with him idly, about odd topics like the weather, different books he had been reading, and chores that needed to be done around the house. While Gethin was concentrating too much to really hold up his side of the conversation, he did like the white noise.

After a while, Steph joined them outside. It didn’t really matter, since Gethin was almost done with the ‘Y’ anyway. But she stood next to Jonathan, watching as Gethin put the finishing touches up. He quickly gave the word a second coat, so that it would stand out better and then sat back.

“How does it look?” he asked, looking down at Jonathan and Steph.

“It’s looks great!” Steph said, shooting him a thumbs up.

Jonathan nodded in agreement. “The other letters might need a new coat now too,” he said. “But that can wait until later. For now, it looks perfect.”

Gethin beamed and surveyed his look with a sense of deep pride. Then, he carefully capped his paint bucket, stuffed the brush back between his teeth, and slowly made his way backwards down the ladder into Jonathan’s waiting arms.

Steph took the bucket and brush, promising to rinse the brush and wipe down the paint dripples to that the items wouldn’t dry dirty. She disappeared back into the story, leaving Jonathan and Gethin on the sidewalk to take care of the ladder.

Now on the ground, Gethin took another moment to admire the name.

Gay’s the Word.

Okay, so the work was a little lopsided and it was very obvious that ‘Gay’ had been added recently. But like Jonathan said, Gethin could repaint the others later. For now, it was good. It was satisfying to see that word up there, broadcasting to the entire world what and who they were.

What's the Word.

Gay’s the Word.

Honestly, with a certain sense of satisfaction, Gethin was proud of how far he had come, how far he had progressed, and how much he had grown. This bookstore was a testament of his entire life. Now that he thought about it, maybe the bookstore was his big gay thing. Look at how much it had changed. Look at how much he had changed. Coming back in with Jonathan and repainting the walls, sweeping out the dust, and opening the doors to the public. Coming out.

Gethin puffed out his chest. Proud. Out loud. In the streets. Crazy and open and happy and gay. It was like a mantra in his head, so easy that Gethin could chant it over and over again.

What's the Word.

Gay's the Word.

What's the Word?

Gay's the fucking Word.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small warning for homophobic language near the end, other than that, enjoy ^-^

As it turned out, both Steph and Jonathan could shop like there was no tomorrow. _Individually_. Together, they were like some sort of shopping monster that Gethin desperately needed a leash for. If he looked away for even a moment, there was a high chance that he would lose them both. Gethin was content and ready to go home after the first three stores. Jonathan and Steph were most definitely not.

They had bags from the past couple stored they had gone to and found something. All their purchases were neatly folded and tucked into the plastic bags that rustled and crinkled as they moved. They had bought lunch earlier and Jonathan was carried around a Styrofoam cup of soda that was half gone and mostly ice.

Gethin carried most of bags because Steph was too excited to carrying them, bouncing from store to store and waving her hands when she got too carried away. Jonathan wasn’t too far behind her, although he wasn’t as carried away as she was. He had more of a dignified excitement. That left Gethin, who didn’t nearly had the same amount of excitement as either of them, to carry the bags like a normal person.

“Come on, Sweet,” Jonathan coaxed, tugged gently on Gethin’s sleeve. “This one you'll love. I promise.”

“You said that about the last one,” Gethin said. “And the one before that.”

It wasn't that he protested or pulled away. In fact, he leaned into Jonathan's touch, shifting his grip so that instead of his sleeve, Jonathan was holding his hand. He let himself be pulled into the store, into the bright display lights, and into the soft music.

Steph was already at the racks, flipping through the articles of clothing and choosing several to take back into the changing rooms.

“This store will be different though,” Jonathan said, pulling Gethin over to Steph’s side.  

The rack of clothes was all complicated, _fashionable_ stuff that Gethin could never imagine himself wearing. None of it really felt like him anyway, all sheer cuts and fishnet and fitted styles. Sure, Jonathan was used to that, working in the theater and putting on all sorts of costumes. And Steph sure seemed used to it even though she didn’t say much about her life before meeting them.

Then there was him, who owned a bookstore and was more likely to wear a t-shirt and jeans anywhere no matter what the event. He felt out of place with them, mostly because they were both beautiful and confident and he was just him.

“Look at this,” Jonathan said, pulling Gethin out of his thoughts.

He was holding up a sweater, fitted by the looks of it. It was skinny, black-and-grey striped, and made out of sheer material. Jonathan waved it back and forth, wiggling his eyebrows at Gethin. He then offered it with a grin.

“I will pay you money to put this on,” he said. “Come on, Geth! You would look amazing!”

Gethin was already shaking his head, feeling his cheeks go hot at the thought of putting on something that revealing. Which was stupid, since Jonathan had already seen him naked and he had already seen Jonathan naked.

But somehow, partial nudity seemed more shameful, more tantalizingly sexy and scandalous that full nudity. Like he was a tease. Gethin felt awkward being a tease. He didn’t know how to tease, not like that. But Jonathan was giving him that look, like he was the center of the world and Gethin didn’t have Steph nearby to shove the clothing off on her.

So he found himself in the dressing room, pulling off his shirt, and meeting his own gaze in the fingerprint-streaked mirror.

He was average.

It was the first word that popped into his head, and the more he thought about it, yeah, the more it applied. He was just a simple average guy.

Was that bad? Gethin didn't feel like it was necessarily bad.

He was an average height, maybe a little shorter than normal. His body was different than Jonathan’s. Well, _obviously_. He wasn’t fit in the same way. He sat at desks and at coffee shops. He didn’t have the theater or sports to keep him in shape. Without regular activity, he actually did notice the slight bulge that had developed on his stomach since France. He was all food and no work. Lifting and hauling books back and forth wasn’t quite enough to challenge him.

His shoulders weren’t broad or muscled, like Jonathan. They also weren’t narrow or slender like Steph’s. Of course they weren’t obviously, and Gethin felt stupid for comparing himself to her. It was ridiculous.

But still. His body wasn’t the way that he wanted. If he turned sideways and sucked in his stomach, maybe that would be better. But with his stomach pulled in and chest jutted out, he didn’t look any better. He had put on so much weight that his ribs didn’t even stick out.

Gethin let out the breath he had been purposefully holding and sighed, grabbing the sweater off the hanger and pulling it on. The action forced him to break eye contact with himself in the mirror, and maybe that was a good thing. He pulled it on over his head, straightened it over his shoulders, and looked back to the mirror.

The sweater was slutty.

That was the first word that popped into his head, and then he was quickly taking it back because the sweater wasn’t exactly _slutty_. It was just something that Gethin wasn’t used to. It wasn’t exactly see through, but it was made from a mix of fabrics sewed in stripes. And one of the fabrics was . . . . sheer. Yes, sheer. See-through. Teasing. If Gethin moved to the side, anyone could see his chest. If he moved another way, anyone could see his nipples.

Gethin blushed just at the thought of someone seeing him and then felt even more embarrassed than before.

He had gone swimming before. Other guys had gone swimming before. Anatomy and biology were a thing that he didn’t have to be ashamed of. Still, he felt like such a _tease_. And he had never felt like that before and that was strange.

He felt seductive and beautiful, like a stranger you would meet at the bar. Like someone you would kiss in the alley out back after buying a three pound drink for. He felt like the person that every mother warned their daughters to avoid at all costs.

Gethin grinned. Too bad it was the sons that would have to watch out.

And then his face went hot because thinking about being gay and being proud of it, still felt off and strange to him. It was a confusing label, and Gethin tried thinking it again.

_Watch out, boys. I am gay._

Gethin laughed, his cheeks bright red. Quickly, he rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the color so he didn’t look weird.

“Are you going to come out and show me?” Jonathan asked from outside the changing room, reminding Gethin that he wasn’t quite alone.

“Coming!” Gethin said, steeling himself for the stares. He could stand his own eyes raking up and down his body, but the real question was if he could stand anyone else’s eyes. He left his old shirt hanging on the hook inside the dressing room and unlocked the door, stepping back into the store.

The lighting was different and that was the change. And Gethin hadn’t been expecting Jonathan to be standing right outside the door waiting for him. He had the bags from the other stores hanging from the crooks of his elbows and the cup of soda in one hand. It sounded empty though, even as he pulled on the straw, trying to get the last drops.

He completely stopped when he saw Gethin though, the straw still dangling from his mouth and his eyes going a bit wide. He just stopped. Not really frozen, but he acted like the entire world had slowed down the moment he had seen Gethin.

Gethin wasn’t sure how he could survive being around someone who looked like him like the world had slowed down.

“Please tell me you’re getting that,” Jonathan said, a little quiet, a little breathless. He then broke into a huge smile and swept forward, grabbing Gethin’s hands in his own and pulling his arms out so he could get a better look at Gethin’s whole outfit. “I love it!”

“You don’t think it’s too much?” Gethin asked, feeling embarrassed that Jonathan was making such a big deal over just a shirt. “Because it feels like too much.”

“It’s definitely not too much,” Jonathan said, for some reason still holding onto Gethin’s hands. He was still smiling too. “It’s just right. Theater is supposed to be flamboyant.”

“I’m not theater though,” Gethin said.

Jonathan winked. “I didn’t actually mean theater.”

“Oh,” Gethin said, feeling stupid when he realized what Jonathan was talking about.

 He didn’t get a chance to stick his foot even further into his mouth because Steph walked up, two items of her own draped over her arm. Her eyes lit up when she saw Gethin and she smiled just as wide as Jonathan had.

“Hey, I like that,” she said. “Please tell me you’re getting that, Gethin.”

“Oh, he is,” Jonathan answered for Gethin. “Come on, you have to.”

Gethin couldn’t say no to either of them. It was horrible, and he couldn’t help but smile. They both looked at him like they believed in him. It was intoxicating and encouraging.

“Okay!” he relented. “Let me change back and we can go check out.”

Steph squealed in delight, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. Jonathan was smiling even wider now, if that were possible, and he finally let go of Gethin’s hands.

Gethin ducked quickly back into the changing room, avoiding his gaze in the mirror because he was smiling like an idiot and didn’t want to ruin the moment. He slipped out of the shirt and quickly pulled on his other one. He slid the shirt back onto its hanger, making sure the tag was still visible and then unlocked the door, back under the excited attention of Jonathan and Steph.

Gethin collected all the items they were going to buy—fishnet leggings and a jean jacket from Steph and his own shirt—and together, they all went up to the checkout. They didn’t get any weird stares from the cashier, like Gethin was worried about, and he swiped his card and completed the transaction. Jonathan grabbed the back to add to his collection of other bags and they left the store.

“Haircuts?” he suggested as they started walking away from the entrance of the door. “We’ve been here long enough.”

Gethin almost sighed in relief. Haircuts were the whole reason they had come to the mall in the first place. And finally—finally—they were going to get them. Even Steph picked up her pace, nodding excitedly as they located the closest hairdresser.

A couple storefronts down, they found a place that allowed walk-ins without appointments and also did hair coloring. They had all their dyes lined up on a shelf behind the counter, a wonderful gradient rainbow that made Steph gasp in delight. There was a ten minute wait but that was nothing compared to the amount of shopping they had already done. Gethin sighed in relief as they finally sat down on the chairs provided for customers. He didn’t realize his legs had gotten so tired from standing.

“I am so excited,” Steph said as they all settled down. She tugged at the brown strands of her hair that hung over her shoulder, flicking the ends between her fingers. “My parents always hated colored hair. They would never let me do something like this.”

“Well,” Jonathan said, offering Gethin the melted ice in their mostly empty cup. Gethin declined. “Two people are with you right now, and neither of them are your parents.”

Steph giggled, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m so excited!” she repeated. “Are you going to get any color, Gethin?”

“I don’t think so,” Gethin said with a shrug. “At least, not today. Maybe later.”

Steph nodded. “Okay,” she said, thankfully not arguing with him about that decision. “I’m going to get something bright, I think. What do you think, Jonathan?”

Jonathan rubbed his chin, looking behind the counter at all the choices and hemming and hawing over the decision. He put actual thought into the question, which made Steph smile and fidget in anticipation, leaning forward and waiting eagerly for his opinion.

“I think pink,” he finally said. “With your hair, they’ll probably have to bleach it in order to lighten it enough for color. You could then go bright pink or strawberry blonde. Either one would look really good.”

“Oooh! I like both of those ideas!” Steph said, looking back to the colors and thinking more to herself. “Oh, now I don’t know what I want. Because red would look so badass.”

“You should get what you want,” Gethin offered. “Any color is going to look great.”

“Gethin?” the hairdresser called just then. “I’m ready for you.”

“Good luck,” Jonathan said with a slightly teasing smile as Gethin stood and walked back to where the worker was waiting for him.

He said down in the swivel chair and lifted his chin and the worker strapped a plastic cape around his chest. She made sure if the fit right and smoothed it down, grabbing her spray bottle and scissors, straightening up her workstation before starting.

“What are you thinking about doing today?” she asked with a customer service smile.

“Um, nothing big,” Gethin said. “It’s been a couple months since my last haircut. I just need the sides shortened. The top can stay a bit longer.”

The hairdresser considered him for a minute, as she thought through his request. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll take the sides down to a three on the clippers. And you want the top kept how much longer than that?”

“Not too long,” Gethin said, feeling awkward that he didn’t know how to describe it. “Um, I don’t really style it or anything. So it doesn’t have to be long. Just not as short as the sides. I think?”

The hairdresser nodded though, as if she understood exactly what he wanted. “I think I got it,” she said.

She got to work, spraying down his hair with water and combing it where she needed it to go. She worked efficiently, too concentrated to provide much conversation. Not that Gethin minded. He was content to just silently sit and let her work. A couple minutes later, another hairdresser called Steph’s name, and Gethin watched through his mirror as she was led to a different chair across from his chair.

Their conversation was too hushed for Gethin to hear from where he was, but Steph was smiling and nodding the more they talked, motioning with her hands to different sections of his hair and studying the different options that her hairdresser offered from a book next to her station. Eventually, Steph sat down in the chair and let the hairdresser put the cape around her neck.

Gethin was so focused on watching her haircut more than his own that he was surprised when his hairdresser started her blow dryer to clean the clippings off his shoulders. He was all done, faster than he realized.

“Does this look good?” she asked, holding up a smaller mirror so that he could see the back of his head.

Gethin was surprised to find that he actually liked it. It was slightly different than what he was used to, more like a variation on the style he already had. It fit him, even better than the haircut he had had before.

“I love it!” he told the hairdresser sincerely with an honest smile.  “Thank you so much.”

He paid at the register, leaving a generous tip for her and then turned back to where Jonathan was sitting. He couldn’t hold back his smile. Jonathan shot him a thumbs up and a smile of his own.

“It looks so good,” he said and then jerked his chin at something behind Gethin. “Look at Steph.”

Gethin turned, glancing back to the spot where he had last seen Steph. And he almost gasped in surprise. His mouth certainly did fall open and it took him a moment to realize and close it.

The hairdresser was halfway through shaving the sides of Steph’s hair, using a clippers even shorter than had been used on Gethin’s haircut. Steph was beaming at her reflection in the mirror, saying something to the hairdresser as she worked.

“Bold,” Jonathan said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

Neither was Gethin.

As they watched, the hairdresser finished shaving the side facing them and moved onto the back and other side. She chatted with Steph out of Gethin’s earshot, discussing different things, holding up different scissors or clips and then continuing the haircut. Steph smiled bigger and bigger as the hairdresser worked, if that were possible.

Finally, when Steph was satisfied with the way her hair looked, the hairdresser pulled out two different swatches of color from somewhere in her workstation and showed them to her. They discussed colors for a while, going through several different swatches and discussing different sections of Steph’s hair. When they had decided on a color it seemed, the hairdresser led Steph towards the back of the store, out of sight from both Gethin and Jonathan.

“She’s going to look so different,” Gethin commented, straining his neck to try to see but getting nothing.

“I think that’s the point,” Jonathan said with a smile.

They waited in silence for the most part. Steph didn’t reappear out from the back of the store, so they had to wait for the final look. Gethin listened to the foot traffic outside the door, the snippets of conversation that drifted through the glass windows. Water ran from somewhere in the store, soft conversation, and then a blow dryer. It took several more minutes of silence before Steph walked out from the back of the store.

Gethin almost didn’t recognize her.

Steph’s hair had been shaved on both sides, leaving a sort of shoulder-length Mohawk. That had been dyed strawberry blonde—more strawberry than blonde. It was styled up in a sort of pompadour and clearly had product holding it in place. Still, she looked like a model. A badass model.

She was smiling, half-laughing and half-blushing. She turned her head away from them, flipping the back across her face. She adjusted it with her eyes on the ground, still looking that sort of smiley-embarrassed mix. She quickly paid the cashier, the hairdresser that had worked with her, and thanked her extensively. The hairdresser was smiling too, accepting the money and making quick change.

Gethin couldn’t stop staring, even when Steph turned to face them again. She stood with her shoulders back, head up. She was still sort of blushing, her cheeks pink and flushed.

“Hey,” she said, walking up to them and standing up proudly. “You like it?”

Gethin couldn’t find the words. He _loved_ it. Was he allowed to say that? It looked so cool. He was kind of jealous, if he were being honest. After his haircut, Steph’s was a complete turnaround.

“It looks amazing!” Jonathan said, nodding. “It fits you too.”

“I love it,” Gethin blurted, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Steph was beaming. “I love it too,” she said. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands away from her hair. She twisted the ends through her fingers and flipped the back across her neck and down her shoulders. “I’m glad I did it.”

“The color turned out so good!” Gethin said with jealousy as they walked out of the store together, somehow fitting side-by-side through the front doors.

“Yeah,” Steph said, brushing off the few bangs that had fallen into her face. She couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m so happy with it!”

Jonathan was smiling, and Gethin was smiling too. They walked side-by-side with each other, Steph in the middle, Gethin on her right, and Jonathan on her left. Gethin felt better than he had in months. He felt better than he had in _years_. It was strange, he realized, to have a place that he belonged and fit in so easily.

“Well, are we all ready to go home?” Jonathan asked, saying what everyone was probably thinking.

“I think so,” Gethin said, shooting both Steph and Jonathan a teasing grin. “Unless you two want to shop even more?”

“I could drag you to a couple more stores,” Jonathan retorted. “Don't tempt me.”

“Let's just get back to the bookstore,” Steph said, still smiling and barely paying attention to their back-and-forth banter. “I'm done for the day.”

Gethin had been done with the day a couple hours ago. Not that he would trade anything for time to spend with Jonathan. Gethin just like that time to be at home, snuggled up on the couch, alone except for each other.

They all squeezed into the back of a taxi, bags squished down near their feet. Jonathan paid the man out of his wallet and gave him the address to the bookshop. Gethin was next to the window with Jonathan in the middle and Steph on the other side of him. They were all hip-to-hip, crushed together, but Gethin shifted even closer to Jonathan, slipping their hands together.

Jonathan didn’t even flinch. He finished talking to the driver, giving Gethin’s hand a squeeze and then shooting him a smile.

The ride back to the bookshop was kind of awkward. With their purchases, it was more cramped, and Steph kept giggling and tugging on her hair, rubbing the sides, and flipping it back and forth across her face. Gethin’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, even when Gethin tried to purposefully make himself sit still. Jonathan gave up on conversation when both Steph and Gethin were too smiley to answer his questions anyway.

They spilled out of the taxi gratefully once they pulled to a stop in front of the store. Gethin was still holding Jonathan’s hand when he staggered out onto the sidewalk and bent back into the backseat in order to help grab their bags. And maybe that’s why he didn’t see the front of his store right away.

“Uh, Gethin,” Steph said. “Are you seeing this?”

Gethin turned around, opening his mouth to ask her just what she was talking about. He didn’t get a chance to because he immediately saw what she was talking about and dropped the bags he had been holding.

“Oh, fuck,” Jonathan muttered behind him. “Geth, are you—?”

Okay? What Gethin okay? No, was his _store_ okay? Gethin rushed forward without thinking, terror making his heart and mind race. He ignored the way Jonathan was shouting at him, warning him that people might be inside and no, stop, Geth, you could get hurt!

Gethin ignored him, because the front door of _his_ store, the glass one that normally held his open-close sign and he for sure had locked before leaving, was shattered and broken, hanging open and swaying in a stray breeze. Across the display windows, spray painted in heavy, disgusting black letters, was the word “Faggot.”

Gethin thought he was going to throw up.

He ripped open the door and rushed into the dark gloom of his store. The glass shards from the door crunched under his feet, probably ruining his shoes, but Gethin couldn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to. He needed to check everything, the sudden urge to protect his store overtaking his entire mind.

“Gethin, _stop_!” Jonathan said, walking in behind him much more slowly, picking his way across the glass.

Gethin spotted the large stone in the middle of the floor. It was framed in the shadows by a beam of sunlight coming through the door, like it was something good. Gethin felt bile crawl up the back of his throat just from looking at it. Tears were starting to burn his eyes as he continued to ignore Jonathan and step forward.

“Nothing else looks like it was messed with,” Steph said softly, still behind Gethin as well. She was standing off the side of the glass mess, clutching all their bags to her chest. She looked just as scared as Gethin felt. “That’s good, right?”

Nothing was good.

Gethin took another step forward and crouched, scooping up the stone. It was smooth and cold against his palm. He rolled it over, hefting it from hand to hand, mentally weighing it.

What would it feel like to throw it? It was hefty enough. Anyone could probably get a good toss off of it and it could easily break through the glass door with little effort. Its surface was mostly smooth, slightly pockmarked on one side, like it had been dented from hitting the floor.

Gethin let it drop back to the floor with a thud.

“Gethin,” Jonathan said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Gethin shot to his feet and spun, burying his face in Jonathan’s shoulder and clinging to him tightly. Jonathan hugged him back, holding him as tight as Gethin needed. He was crying before he realized it, just silent tears running down his cheeks and soaking into Jonathan’s shirt.

Jonathan was rubbing his shoulders, gently but firmly, curling himself protectively around Gethin. “Sshh, Ssh,” he was murmuring quietly. “It’ll be okay. We can fix this.”

Another body pressed against Gethin’s back, enveloping him in another hug. He had almost forgotten that Steph was there. Her hair fell down, tickling his cheek and shoulder, and for some reason, Gethin focused on that. He hadn’t hugged someone with long hair in a while.

_Faggot._

That’s why. He clung tighter to Jonathan, as if he could block out the entire world if he stayed tucked against Jonathan’s neck long enough. When he finally pulled his face away to catch a breath, the fabric of Jonathan’s shirt stuck to his face, snot and tears drying on Gethin’s face.

Glass was still scattered across the floor, and the stone was still sitting by their feet. Nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , had changed.

“Alright,” Jonathan said, not letting Gethin hide back in his chest. He pushed him away, holding his shoulders and then lifting his chin with a hand. “This is hard, right?”

Gethin sniffed, trying to hold back his tears. “Yeah. . .”

“It hurts,” Jonathan said. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re gonna pick yourself up,” Jonathan said. “And you’re gonna stand tall. Right?”

Gethin chewed his bottom lip.

“You’re gay,” Jonathan said.

Gethin winced.

“No, no,” Jonathan said. “That’s not a bad thing. Look at me. You’re gay, alright.”

He kissed Gethin deeply. Steph was still hugging him from behind, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, providing a pressure counterpoint to Jonathan’s kiss. Gethin closed his eyes and sunk into the moment, letting both of them hold him.

Finally, after a heartbeat, Jonathan pulled away, just resting his forehead against Gethin’s. They all stood in the center of the store, leaning against each other. If Gethin didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t have to see the spray paint on the windows and stone at their feet. He didn’t have to acknowledge anything as long as he kept his eyes closed.

It was Jonathan who finally broke the silence.

“I’ll head over to the hardware store and look at new doors,” he said. “You and Steph can stay here and watch the place. Get some tea from upstairs and make sure nothing else happens. You can call the police if anyone shows up.”

“We can wash the windows!” Steph suggested, still not letting go of Gethin. “Make them clean again!”

Jonathan was smiling, trying to catch Gethin’s eye and get him to smile again. “Does that sound good to you, Geth?”

Gethin took a deep breath and steeled himself, opening his eyes completely and looking up to meet Jonathan’s gaze. He smiled strongly, holding back his tears successfully. He pushed back his shoulders and stood tall.

“It sounds _great_ ,” he said. It was something to do, and Gethin needed something to direct his anger at. If he didn’t, he felt like he would tear the place apart with his own two hands.

“I’ll go get water and soap,” Steph said, finally letting him going and rushing quickly up the stairs.

As soon as she was gone, Jonathan grabbed Gethin’s hands again, giving them a tight squeeze. “You’re okay, right?” he asked softly.

Gethin sighed, slumping his shoulders back down. “I’m angry, I guess,” he said. “Angry that this happened.”

“That’s still a step up from sad,” Jonathan said, his voice cheerful and only a little forced. “We’ll get through this, Geth. We’ll all get through this. Even if it’s not a one-time thing, assholes eventually lose interest. They’ll find something better to do eventually.”

Gethin swallowed and nodded, even though he didn’t entirely believe Jonathan. It was a nice thought anyway.

 


End file.
